


Just One More Lie

by grantaireslonelysoul



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: M/M, cancer!grantaire, protective!enjolras, sick!grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaireslonelysoul/pseuds/grantaireslonelysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are living together, and while things aren't going well, they've gone worse-until Grantaire gets sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: CANCER. If cancer is triggering to you, you might not want to read this.  
> Another trigger warning for mention of abuse, which I should have put in earlier and I apologize for.  
> Also a language warning maybe? Probably. 
> 
> I don't know how fast updates will be because I am a high school student, but please know that I will try to write more as fast as possible!
> 
> Also this is pretty sad/angsty (I cry while writing it) and will probably tear your heart out. Fair warning.
> 
> Say hi on tumblr at www.thatspoetic--thatspathetic.tumblr.com

He was looking at me again. Why did he always have to give me that look? He knew what it did to me, how I froze up and stopped breathing, just like I always used to do before we started dating. He knew how my spine was starting to feel un-spine-like. All because of how he was looking at me.    

“I swear to God, Apollo, it’s not your cooking.” I tell him, but he still doesn’t look like he believes me. “I’m serious!”

He flicks his eyebrows up and I know I better keep talking. “I’m serious, I’ve just lost my appetite.”

Finally, he believes me, and his sigh matches my internal one. “Alright, R. I just wish you’d start feeling better. I hate that you’ve been so sick lately.”

            There he goes again. “I’m not sick,” I tell him, just like I’ve told him countless times. “I just haven’t been hungry.” I shrug my shoulders and turn away. “Maybe I’m just going through a reverse growth spurt.”

            He doesn’t laugh, just turns me back to face him, his hand lingering on my shoulder. “That’s not funny, Grantaire. Maybe you should talk to Joly.”

            I roll my eyes and twirl away. “Joly? Joly would just tell me I have cancer or something.”

            “Well, people don’t lose their appetite all the time for no reason.” Enjolras wasn’t letting this go. “Obviously, something’s going on.”

            I open my mouth to argue with him, something we both know I love, but realize he has a point. Damn. “Fine, I’ll talk to Joly. Baby.”

            “Coward,” he retorts.

            “Pansy.”

            “Foolish.”

            “Overprotective.”

            “Reckless.”

            “Beautiful,” I tell him, then kiss him lightly before grabbing his hand. “C’mon, we’ll miss Courf’s party.”

            “R, I made dinner-“

             I put on an innocent expression. “What, you don’t think Courfeyrac will have food at the party?” This is a challenge, and I know it and he knows it.

            He accepts, narrowing his eyes. “Are you going to eat any?”

            I’m suddenly uncomfortable with how well he can read me. “Well, no, but-“

            He doesn’t even give me a chance to finish. “And you better not drink, either.”

            He’s gone too far now, and I can see that he knows it somewhere in his eyes, but I don’t let him take it back. “Apollo, you know I gave that up. Years ago, in fact.” I could stop here, but I won’t. Can’t. I have to continue, now placing just a ghost of a superior tone in my voice. “You said that if I didn’t drink for a year, you would go on a date with me. And,” The superiority has taken me over now, and there’s even a hint of indignation, too “you didn’t think I would, but I did. So you had to go on the stupid date with me, and you-“

            “Fell hopelessly in love with you, yes.” Enjolras looks directly at me, holding my gaze. “It’s not something I’m forgetting anytime soon, R, trust me.”

            The words make me blush, but I’m not quite done yet. “Anyway, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since, as you very well know.”

            “Except at Feuilly’s wedding," he points out, and I throw my hands up in the air. “Jesus, Apollo, do you remember everything?! I had a sip of wine. I barely got my lips wet.”

            He bites his lip. “I know,” he says, and goes in to hug me. Our heartbeats are synchronized, and he rests his chin on my head. “I know,” he repeats quietly, “and I’m so proud of you for it.”

            This is unexpected, so I kiss his collarbone as a thank-you. We stay there for a while, and I can feel myself getting closer to him, physically and emotionally, until he draws back.

            “C’mon,” he says. “We’ll miss the party.”

~

            Courfeyrac really has outdone himself this time. Neither Enjolras nor I have to say it; we’re both thinking it as we walk in, hand in hand. He spots Combeferre and turns to me, asking with his eyes if he can go over, and I nod. I’ll catch up to him later. I walk away, too, and find our youngest friend, Gavroche, who’s still in high school.

            “Gav, what are you doing? It’s past your curfew, isn’t it?”

            He glares at me. “Do you think my parents really care?” He reaches for his beer and I flinch. “C’mon, Gav, at least don’t drink in front of me? I hate that you’ve started so young.”

            “I’m seventeen,” he corrects me, and I sigh as he continues talking. “How old were you when you started drinking? Fifteen?”

            I was thirteen, but I ignore his question. “Please?” At this point, my only hope is the middle-school-inspirational-speaker tactic. “Look at what it did to me.”

            He looks at me. “It got you the love of your life.”

            I shake my head. “No, quitting got me the love of my life. Drinking made him think I was a good-for-nothing fool.”

            Gavroche’s look has a million words in it, but he speaks anyway. “He didn’t think that, Grantaire. He never would have.”

            Enjolras is usually one of my favorite subjects, but now, I’m uncomfortable. “It was the quitting that, uh…” I tug at my collar. “That made him…”

            “Love you,” Gavroche finishes, smiling at me, and I know that I’m blushing.   

            “Anyway, I can’t force you not to drink at all, but can you at least save it for when I can’t see you?”

            “Sure,” he tells me, smiling and placing his beer out of reach, and I ruffle his hair. “Thanks. Where’s your sister?”

            He rolls his eyes. “Playing Spin the Bottle.” He pauses. “With Courfeyrac.”

            The way he says it catches my attention. “Does she like him?”

            Gavroche shakes his head. “As far as I know, she’s still hung up on Pontmercy.” He bites his lip. “But last I heard, he’s been getting a crush on her…”

            I think of my best friend, tough in so many ways, but weak in so many others, and try to picture her with fun-loving, life-of-the-party Courfeyrac. I can’t remember him ever really crushing on anyone, but I like the idea of him with Eponine.

            “Alright,” I nod. “Maybe something’ll happen.”

            Shouts from the next room, and Courf’s voice, sluggish with alcohol already, “I’m not kissing you _again_ , Bahorel! Spin again!”

            I roll my eyes. “Or maybe not.”

            Gavroche grins at me. “You know you’d be in there with them if it wasn’t for Enjolras.”

            I can’t help it-even after four years of dating, I smile at my boyfriend’s name. “That’s true.” I acknowledge. “But I think I prefer his kisses anyway.”

            “You sure?” he jokes. “I can’t imagine Bossuet tasting too bad.”

  
            I slap his arm. “You can’t make those jokes. He’s in…well, in whatever it is he’s in with Joly and Muschietta.”

            Gavroche’s mischievous grin only makes me laugh, though, until his phone buzzes. “Shit,” he says, jumping up. “It’s Azelma. I’ve got to get back home.” He shoots me a hopeful look. “Talk to you later?”

            “Of course, Gav,” I tell him. “Take care of yourself.”

            I could go over by Enjolras and Combeferre, but they’re probably talking about something too smart for me to understand, so I opt for the Spin the Bottle room instead, hoping to avoid any unwanted kisses.

            As I walk in, I hear whistles and hoots. I can’t imagine why they’d be for me, but all I have to do is turn, and I see Eponine and Muschietta kissing. _That’ll do it ._ I clear my throat. “Well, this is some greeting.”

            It’s Muschietta who spots me first, and she leaps up to hug me. “ _Grantaire!_ ” It doesn’t matter to her that we don’t know each other too well-she’s just a hugger. I squeeze her back, grinning as Eponine bounds over, too.

            “Hey, ‘Taire,” she greets me, and I know I have to give her the lecture again. “Ep, nobody’s called me ‘Taire since I was five.”

            She tosses her head back and laughs. “Bullshit, I’ll bet anything Enjolras uses it in bed.”

            I act offended, playing her game. “Oh, come on, Ep, you know I don’t fuck and tell.”

            “Really?” she throws back. “Because I can name about a dozen guys in high school who were the exception to that rule. Let’s see, there was…”

            “Alright, alright!” I hurry. She’s won this round and we both know it. She hugs me again and whispers “I really get it, though,” and I’m overcome with gratefulness that she never makes a big deal of the fact that I have a boyfriend and she doesn’t.

            As if she read my thoughts, though, she pulls back and asks, “Have you seen Marius?”

            I have seen her crush, deep in conversation with his girlfriend, Cosette, in Courfeyrac’s spare bedroom, but I know Eponine, and even though she may not act like it, she’s pretty weak right now, so I choose to lie. “Nope,” I shake my head. “Haven’t seen him.”

            “Yeah, well, good, I’m sick of seeing his rich ass around anyway,” she mutters, and I raise my eyebrows at this blatant lie, but know better than to say anything.

            “Guys, I’m gonna head out, okay?” Eponine calls over her shoulder, and I notice Courf’s disappointed expression. Maybe Gavroche is right.

            “That’s okay, the game was dying anyway,” Muschietta tells her with a hug. “See you soon, Ep. Call me, okay?”

            Eponine says she will, and waves goodbye to me on her way out. “See ya, ‘Tairebear. Use a condom.” She winks and mouths ‘text me’ and I nod my promise.

            From across the adjoining room, Enjolras gives me a pointed look and nods to Joly. I plead with my eyes to let it go, but his expression insists. As I shoot him puppy-dog eyes, he sighs and makes his way to my side.

            “I’ll go with you,” he tells me, and I know that’s the best I’m going to get. We make our way to Joly, and I mutter to him to take it easy. Joly’s a good doctor, and I trust him, but he can get pretty paranoid in a short amount of time.

            “Hey, Joly,” Enjolras says, completely confident, and I can’t help but marvel at his lack of self-consciousness. “We were wondering if you could help diagnose whatever R has.”

            I know Joly’s concerned, but I love that he masks it. “Sure. What symptoms do you have, Grantaire?”

            Enjolras opens his mouth to answer for me, but I know this is something I have to do myself. “Nothing except a lack of appetite.”

            Joly’s usual grin is suddenly exchanged for a worried frown. “Grantaire, that could be any number of things! Hepatitis, or mumps or emphysema, or…”

            His boyfriend, Bossuet, comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Doc, I’m sure it’s not all that bad.” He looks at me. “I would get tested, though. It’d be much worse to be wrong in thinking it’s nothing.”

            Enjolras mirrors him, gently touching my shoulder. “Alright. Would tomorrow be good for you?” he asks Joly.

            I can’t stand him treating me like I’m not there. “It works for me, Mommy.”

            Bossuet laughs, but he’s the only one who does. Joly just nods. “Yes, tomorrow should work. Like, say…8:00?”

            “Great,” Enjolras confirms, and I walk away, because what else is there for me to say?

~

            “You’re not mad at me, are you?” Enjolras asks on the car ride home.

            I return the question with his least favorite response. “Why would I be mad at you?” _Make him say what he’s done wrong, make him admit it._

            He looks over at me. “You are.”

            I don’t let him get away that easily, though. “Seriously, Apollo, what reason could I possibly have for being mad at you?”

            “You know, I was just trying to help!”

            I’ve been working so hard to keep at a neutral tone, but my temper gets the better of me with that comment. “I didn’t ask you to! I don’t always need your help, you know!”

            He looks ready to tear out his hair. “Maybe I just wanted you to be okay!”

            “If I’m not, what are you going to do about it?!”

            His face looks as though I’ve slapped him. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, pulling into our parking spot in the apartment building.

            “Okay,” I say back, and he turns the car off but stays inside, turning to face me.

            “You are going to be okay, Grantaire.”

            I take his hand and squeeze it. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

I hate doctor’s offices. I really do.

            Joly’s not here yet. He’s always so punctual. Why isn’t he here yet?

A feeling of disgust comes over me as I realize I’m panicking. How stupid. This’ll only be a few hours. Then I’ll go home and pursue life as usual. Nothing to worry about.

            Beside me, Enjolras squeezes my hand, and I sigh. He’s coming along to wait, but not for the tests-and, of course, upon diagnosis. Those were the conditions we agreed upon late last night. We both had to give a little, but we did reach a consensus.

            “Grantaire?” Joly walks in the waiting room, and I rise, a little too eagerly. “Yeah.”

            He smiles kindly. “We’re just going to start with you taking a blood test. That won’t tell us everything, but it can answer most questions. If you test negative for everything, we’ll try other things, but for now, we’ll see how this goes. Understand?”

            I nod and I see Enjolras’s golden halo bobbing, too. We squeeze hands before I follow Joly back through a maze of blank rooms. He stops at one near the middle of the hallway and lets me go in first, motioning me to take a seat on the table.     

            “I hope you’re okay with needles,” he says, smiling a little as he rubs something on my arm and sterilizes the needle.

            “I’m fine,” I assure him. This isn’t even a lie-needles have never bothered me the way they do other people. Enjolras, for example, turns white even at the sight of one. But it’s not Enjolras in here, it’s me.

            I wince when the blood is drawn, but shrug once it’s over. “No problem.”

            “Now, normally, this would take a few days, but today’s a slow day, and you’re a friend, so can I have you come back in a few hours?”

            “Sure,” I tell him, taking out my usual cynical tone. Joly doesn’t deserve it, not after all he’s done to help me.

            He and I walk out, and Joly repeats his spiel to an attentive Enjolras.

            When Enjolras and I walk out, he turns to me right away. “So, what do you think?”

            What does he expect me to say? “I have no idea, Apollo.”

            He doesn’t want to take that as an answer. “How did it go? Do you think you’re alright? What do you think ‘a few hours’ means?”

            I sigh. “Enj…”

            I want to tell him not to be so nervous, to let me live my own life, that he’s too protective, to controlling, but the look on his face cuts me off. I can’t hurt him more than I have already.

            “It was fine. A normal blood test. I have no idea if I’m alright. I guess we’ll find out soon. As for when…” I exhale again. “I’d say three, four hours. We’re kind of far from our apartment and I’d say we shouldn’t go back. I mean, either way, we’re going to have to go back to the hospital: for more tests if they can’t find anything, or to learn about whatever I have.”

            To my surprise, he kisses me. Deeper than he usually does, at least in public. Too shocked to respond, I let him. When he pulls back to look at me, I shiver before asking, “What was that for?”

            “For being the calm one in our relationship so I have some sort of constant to keep me grounded,” he answers, looking at me with trusting eyes. “I love you for that.”

            I don’t know how to react to that. I’m flattered, of course, but Enjolras doesn’t usually say these things. I want to bring him close, and hold him, and say that everything will be alright, but I don’t know how to do that, so I shrug and say “Glad to hear it, Apollo.”

            He reaches for my hand, and I let him. “Do you want to get some Chinese?”

            Enjolras nods, still looking at me as if he’s enamored. Together, we walk to the nearest Chinese place, avoiding the words we’re both thinking.

            ~

            Joly calls right as we’re opening the fortune cookies. I pick up on the first ring, my phone off of silent for once in my life.  “Hello?”

            “Grantaire” he says, “It’s time.”

            _Well, thanks for that, Joly, I had no idea why you were calling,_ I think, but remain polite. “Okay. I’ll-“ I pause as my eyes meet Enjolras’s. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I hang up and nod to Enjolras, and we walk out without even reading our fortunes.

            Joly calls me in right away, with no wait, and says I should bring Enjolras. I know what this means. Bad news. Enjolras knows it too, and he’s walking slower to delay it. I look over my shoulder at him as Joly leads us down a hallway, but he’s looking at the ground.

            The room we sit in is not the same one where I was tested. It’s smaller, with just a single chair and the table-no important-looking instruments.

            “Grantaire.” Joly says, lifting the weight of silence from my back.

            “Yes?”

            “Grantaire, you…have cirrhosis,” he says flatly. No beating around the bush, no gross fake opening. Just like that. Cirrhosis.

            “What…is it?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Like I’m not scared shitless.

            “It…well, the simplest way to describe it is that some scarring tissue is in your liver and trying to stop it from working.”

            Enjolras speaks up, paler than I’ve ever seen him. “Is it…” He swallows before the last word. “fatal?”

            Joly smiles. “No,” he says, “It is serious, but treatable, Grantaire. This won’t kill you-not for a long time, that is.”

            Enjolras sighs with relief, and I notice myself relaxing, too. I didn’t know I was that worried. “Well, that’s okay, then, isn’t it?”  
            Joly’s face falls. “Well, no,” he says, and my heart sinks. _No?_

            He continues, looking even more serious. “It is not…uncommon for patients with cirrhosis to develop liver cancer.”

            Is it my imagination, or do I stop breathing? “But not…definitely, right?”

            “No.” Joly looks grave. “But enough a possibility that we want you tested as soon as possible. If we treat cirrhosis right, it won’t kill you, Grantaire. But this…”

            He doesn’t need to finish. This will. Not daring to look at Enjolras, I nod. “Okay. What do I have to do?”

            Joly takes a deep breath. “A CT scan would be best. You aren’t allergic to shellfish, are you?”

            I shake my head, confused, and as Joly notices, he explains. “There are similar chemicals in the machines we use for CT scans, so it’s best to check first. But if that’s not an issue, we’ll just do an abdominal CT scan.”

            Enjolras speaks up, putting his hand on my shoulder. “How long will the results take?”

            Joly smiles faintly. “Forty to sixty minutes. Nice and convenient.”

            _In forty to sixty minutes, I’ll know if I am going to live or die. Convenient._ “Great,” I say. “Let’s go.”

            ~

            Enjolras is looking anxious when I come out of the scanning room, and I want to hold him and promise that whatever Joly says, we’ll be okay, but something else in me is scared to touch him. He takes my hand as I sit down in the waiting room, though, and we sit in silence for the next half hour.

            At the forty-minute mark, Enjolras squeezes my hand, so I look over at him, ready to start a conversation, but he seems unaware that he’s done anything at all.

            Joly walks out five minutes later, and I can feel something weird happen in my throat. I stand up, knees shaking. “Yeah?”

            “Grantaire,” Joly’s voice breaks a little, and I nod. “You don’t have to say it, Joly. The results are positive.”

            Biting his lip, Joly nods and goes to hug me. I pat his back lightly, my mind going blank. _I have cancer._

            Joly pulls away, wiping his eyes. “Sorry. Here, come with me. Enjolras…you, too.”

            _Enjolras._ I turn back to look at my boyfriend and instantly wish I hadn’t. He’s clearly doing everything in his power not to cry, and it takes him a few tries before he gets up to follow Joly. He takes a few extra steps to try and take my hand, though, but I don’t let him this time. What’s the point of getting close if I’m just going to leave him?

            Joly seems to have recollected himself by the time the three of us get into the room. “Okay, Grantaire. You’ve been diagnosed with hepatocellular carcinoma, which is the most common form of liver cancer. You have a few options on how to deal with it, such as-“

            “I thought it was fatal,” Enjolras interrupts.

            Joly rubs his eyes. “Yes, most patients die within the first year, but we have to fight, don’t we?”

            Enjolras nods. “Okay. What are our options?”

            _Our_ options? I open my mouth to say something, but Joly cuts me off to answer Enjolras’s question. “We can try surgery, a transplant, radiation therapy…it’s up to you. Here,” He hands me a few pamphlets. “Read these and decide what you want to do. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you the day after tomorrow.”

            I nod slowly. For something that’s my choice, it sure seems like a lot of decisions are being made for me.

            Joly looks at me kindly. “This isn’t the end, Grantaire. There’s still a lot we can do.”

            I nod again-that’s all I can do, apparently. “Can I go now?”

            “Of course,” Joly assures me, glancing at Enjolras. “I know you probably want to…of course. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

            Enjolras responds, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying. It’s not until the two of us reach the car and Enjolras moves to the drivers seat that the power of speech returns to me. “Oh, what, I can’t drive because I’m sad sick little Grantaire?”

            He looks at me for the first time since hearing the news. “No, Grantaire, you can’t drive because you’re shaking.”

_Oh._

            We’re halfway home before I speak again. “So…this is a good thing, right?”

            Enjolras freezes before slowly turning to look at me, his eyes sending a silent warning.

            It’ll take more than that to stop me, though. “You were saying just the other day that you wanted to spend more time with Combeferre.” I shrug, my eyes innocent. “You got your wish.”

            It takes a while before he speaks, but his voice is low when he does. “This is not my wish, Grantaire.”

            I want to shout at him, to scream at the top of my lungs, and I’m about to, until he finishes his phrase. “You know that.”

            And that’s when I explode.

            “I don’t know anything anymore, Enjolras. I don’t know you; I don’t know myself, or any of our friends. I don’t know whether I’m going to live or die. The only thing I know, Enjolras, is that here are a bunch of cells inside me that want to kill me, and will not stop until they succeed!”

            He’s silent for a while. Then he speaks, choosing each word carefully. “This is hurting me, too, Grantaire.”

            “Yeah, well-“ I can’t finish. “Yeah, well….” I trail off for real this time, not being able to find words through the tears that have already filled my eyes.

            Enjolras takes my hand, but luckily, he knows better than to say anything. I’m horrified to hear myself sob, and try to choke it back before Enjolras can do anything. He hears, though, and squeezes my hand. It’s hard to tell, but I think I catch a few tears in his eyes before he turns back to look at the road.


	3. Chapter 3

“You have to tell Eponine,” is the first thing Enjolras says to me when we get home.

            I know he’s right, but I fight him on it anyway. “Why should I tell her?”

            His glance fixes me to the spot. “Because you’d want to know if it was her.”

            Ignoring this truth, I glare at him. “Are _you_ going to tell anyone?”

            I feel a sense of pride at catching him off-guard as I watch him mumble. “Well…I might…I mean, I thought…” He stands up straight. “No. Grantaire, it’s completely your business. I’ll let you tell our friends.”  
            I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t you think Joly can take care of that?”

            I can tell he’s close to walking out, but he’ll answer me first. “Who do you think they’d rather hear it from?”

            And that’s that.

            ~

            I want to take a nap after, but I remember my promise to call Eponine, so I do-despite the fact that I have no intention of telling her.

            She picks up on the first ring. “I thought you’d never call,” she mutters. “I’ve been home all day and my parents. Are driving me. Crazy.”

            “So go to your apartment,” I suggest, falling into the conversation right away. It’s one of the things I like best about Eponine-we never have awkward stages in our talks.

            I can hear her scowl. “My father _stole_ that apartment. He cheated the owners to give him enough money for two years rent, and when it runs out, he plans on cheating the landlord.”

            I wish this surprises me, but it doesn’t. “Besides,” she adds, “I have too many tainted memories of that place. With Montparnasse…”

            “Ah yes, the ineffable Montparsass” I quip, using the name I secretly christened upon Eponine’s old friend-with-benefits.

            “God, that was such a mistake,” she says, and the raw regret in my best friend’s voice hurts my heart. “I mean, yeah, the sex was great, but he could be awfully…well, you know.”

            I knew. They’d been hooking up for awhile before I realized the guy had been using Eponine as his punching bag. I’d never hit a guy before, even in high school, when I was called ‘fag’ every day. But Montparnasse, he deserved every last punch I threw at him.

            Eponine sighs. “And it was all just to try and forget about Pontmercy.”

            I clear my throat, remembering the previous night. “You know, Ep, there are…other guys out there.”

            “Wow, R. I’m flattered, but I don’t know if I could be as good to you as Enjolras is. I mean, all the freedom he lets you have.”

            “Ep.”

            She’s not stopping, though. “And, I mean, you guys _never_ argue.”

            “ _Eponine._ ”

            But she’s on a roll now. “Plus, he’s always thought so highly of you…”

            This hurts, but she’s not done yet. “But, I mean, the best thing about Enjolras is how unafraid he is of commitment.”

            “ _Eponine!_ ”

            She doesn’t sound remorseful. “What?”

            “Stop it. Enjolras and I love each other.” I say, not even thinking of earlier today, when I was barely able to talk to him. “He may not be your type, but we’re happy.”

            At that one-word lie, it all comes back to me. _Happy._ God, if only.

            Since we were kids, it’s always been said that Eponine can read my mind, and she proves our mothers right yet again just now. “Hey, didn’t you do that thing with Joly today? What’d the doc say?”

            I suck in my breath and let my silence set the mood.

            “’Taire.” She won’t let herself sound panicked. 'Not yet,' I think. But I must be wrong, because she honestly sounds terrified with her next word. “’Taire?”

            I want to say something, anything to erase the scared in her voice, but I can’t. My throat has gone dry.

            I thought that listening to her horrified tone couldn’t get any more painful, but, to no one’s surprise, I’m wrong. Her words shake as she gets out “R. Talk to me.”

            Somehow, my voice returns. “It’s…it’s pretty bad, Ep.”

            “How bad?”

            God _damn._ I’m crying again. I do everything in my power not to let my best friend hear. “Cancer bad. Liver cancer.”

            “Oh…my…God,” she says, and now she’s crying, too. “Do you…I mean, is there…?”

            I would give anything not to know what she’s asking right now, but I do. “No. It’s almost always fatal.” I swallow. “Within the first year.”

            “No,” she mumbles to herself. “No… _God,_ no.”

            And I stay silent, because what else is there for me to say?

            It’s not for a while that she speaks again. “How’s Enjolras taking it?”

            I don’t trust myself to say anything.

            “R.”

            Silence.

            “R!”

            I press my lips together. Anything I say here would be wrong.

            “Grantaire, please tell me he knows.”

            She’s used my real name for the first time in the entire conversation, and it is for this reason that I find the strength to speak. “He knows, Ep.”

            “Well?” She’s impatient, but for good reason-Eponine always likes knowing all of the facts in a crisis. “How’s he doing?”

            I sigh. “He acts upset.”

            “Yeah, I’d put a whole bunch of money on saying that he _is_ upset, R. Did you guys talk about it?”

            Technically, we did, but I know that’s not what she means. “No.”

            “ _What?_ ” I’m in trouble now.

            “We didn’t talk about it.”

            “Grantaire, you had better explain why you two are in such a funk within the next thirty seconds or I swear to God, I _will_ hang up on you.”

            For some inexplicable reason, I laugh here. “You can’t hang up on a guy with cancer.”

            Her tone doesn’t change, though. “That’s not funny.”

            Sobering up, I inhale before speaking. “I don’t know, Ep. We didn’t really have a problem before Courf’s party.”

            “Mmm,” she says. “Continue.”

            “Hey, wasn’t that a good party? I think it was one of the best Courf has had, probably because he didn’t have some trashy girl hanging all over him-“

            “Grantaire,” she says. “Do not think I will hesitate to hang up on you, cancer be damned.”

            “Why do you care? I thought you hated Enjolras.”

            “I do not hate Enjolras,” she says, and I know her teeth are clenched, something that always happens when she gets mad. “How could I possibly hate Enjolras when he makes you so happy?”

            “That’s just it, Ep. He’s _not_ making me happy.”

            I didn’t know the words were true until I say them aloud, but I can’t take them back, and slowly realize that I don’t want to.

            “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she says, and I know to keep my groan inside. “Are you thinking you don’t love him?”

            A hard coil twists around my insides at the very words, and I answer immediately. “ _No._ No, I know I do. Seriously, Eponine. I…”

            “I believe you,” she says, cutting me off. “But are you sure that it’s him who’s making you unhappy and not…well…”

            I know what she means, and I stop to consider it. “I think it’s…the way he’s treating me.”

            “What?!”

            It’s just one word, but I can hear her alarmed tone, and know exactly what she’s thinking about. “Not like that Eponine, I swear. He’s never hurt me.”

            Her sigh of relief is unmistakable. “Good.” It isn’t long before she’s back to business, though. “Then what do you mean?”

            I bite my lip, glad that my boyfriend took a walk ‘to clear his head’ rather than stay here, where I could potentially be heard. “I feel like he’s…clingy. But not annoying clingy like a teenage girl.”

            She snorts. “Like Marius, you mean?”

            I may have been avoiding the subject before, but now I really want to talk, and I can tell she knows I’m annoyed. “Sorry. Clingy how?”

            I exhale. “Clingy like a mom watching her kid go off to kindergarten. He’s just always…there, and doing things for me, and…and I know he wants the best, but he needs to just give me space.”

            She’s silent for a few moments, and I start to think she’s mad until she speaks, slowly so she’ll know I’m listening. “Don’t you think he has reason to want to spend as much time with you as possible?”

            I know she thinks this will put me in my place, but I’m ready for this question. “Ep, if he had wanted to spend time with me, he would have said yes to my proposal.”

            She sighs. “ _That’s_ what this is about? Grantaire-“

            I cut her off. “I think I have reason to be upset, don’t you?”

            Another sigh. “Well, yes, but Grantaire, that was almost a year ago. Not to mention that you told him it was okay. _And_ you guys still live together, sleep together, do everything together…I mean, God, Grantaire, you’re pretty much a married couple anyway.”

            “Except for the fact that we aren’t” I correct her. “It could end at any time, and if you think that wanting reassurance that it won’t is too much to ask for…”

            “He still loves you, Grantaire! You know he does! He’s told you enough times, not to mention that all this hovering he’s doing? It’s just to make sure that you’re okay!”

            “Well, I’m not,” I say flatly. “So anytime he wants to stop…”

            She’s silent again, and it’s a long time before she speaks. “You two aren’t that different, you know.”

            This is, of course, a blatant lie. Enjolras and I are polar opposites in nearly every way, and I start to tell her so before she interrupts.

            “No,” she says. “Don’t tell me that you are. Look at the similarities, Grantaire. You don’t want to lose him, and he doesn’t want to lose you.”

            “But there’s a difference,” I whisper. “He’s going to lose me.”

            “So don’t lose him first,” she says sharply.

            “Eponine, if you’re saying I should ask him to marry me again-“

            “That’s not what I’m saying,” she cuts in, “but I think you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it has to be. Didn’t you hear me before? He’s afraid of commitment. Instead of wasting your time moaning about that, you could choose to try and make him feel comfortable with the idea of marriage, or, better yet, think about all his great qualities. You’re not perfect either, you know.”

            Oh, trust me, Eponine. I know.

            “No, I’m really not, am I?” I say conversationally. “I mean besides the bit of being self-loathing to the point of severe depression-“

            “’Taire-“

            “And, of course, the fact that I’m nearly incapable of not arguing with everything anyone says-“

            “Grantaire, I-“

            “Ooo, and let’s remember: I’m an asshole, too. How’d I forget that? Anything else, Ep?  I mean, you’re clearly the expert on all my flaws; am I leaving anything out?”

            “Grantaire-“

            “Oh, good point Ep, I _did_ miss one! Because, on top of all that and so many more things, _I have cancer!_ That’s kind of a problem, isn’t it? It certainly makes me less than perfect.”

            “ _Grantaire,_ ” she whispers, and I think she’s crying but I can’t be sure.

            “Thanks for the pep talk, Ep. See you soon!”

            And I hang up, off to try and get all of my tears out before Enjolras comes home.

           

            


	4. Chapter 4

            When Enjolras comes home, I’ve long erased all traces of crying.

            He, on the other hand, has not extended me the same courtesy.

            As he opens the door, his face falls as he sees that I’m still there, that everything he’d been thinking about is still true. Doing everything not to think about my conversation with Eponine, I rise from my perch on the couch and walk over to him. “Hey.”

            “Hey,” he says briskly. “Have you thought about what you want to do?”

            Of course I haven’t, so I change the subject. “I was thinking we could tell our friends tomorrow.”

            He raises his eyebrows, agreeing to play my game. “That’s great, Grantaire. What will you tell them you plan to do?”

            “To be honest, Apollo, I haven’t thought about it at all.” I say, and we both wince at how wrong the name sounds, so I keep going to move past it. “What are my options again?”

            “Transplant, surgery, or radiation therapy,” he recites, and to humor him, I pretend to think about it. “Well, I can’t do a transplant. I can’t imagine I’d be real high on a donor list, and I don’t know anyone who’s dying to give me their liver.”

            If he notices the irony of my phrasing, he doesn’t comment on it. “Don’t you?”

            What the hell is he talking about? “No, Enj. I really don’t.”

            That’s when he stares directly into my eyes. “Yes, you do.”

            And _that’s_ when I realize his implication, and _that’s_ when I completely lose it. “Apollo, what are you _thinking?_ I _refuse_ to let you die for me. _Refuse._ I mean, _God,_ do you even know how that would make me _feel?_ I’m not worth it, Enjolras. Not even close."

            His eyes are shining when I finish, and not in an excited way, either. “Yes, you are,” he whispers, and I’m flooded with emotions-devastated at leaving him, angry that he thinks his death will solve this, and morbidly pleased that he would die for me. But I can’t let him. That’s not an option.

            “No.” I haven’t wanted to get too close to him, but I forego that now to take him in my arms. “I wouldn’t be happy living like that.”

            He looks down at me. “You’re not happy anyway.”

            Despite that this is true, I can’t give in. “So let me be unhappy with you. Please, Apollo. Don’t…don’t think that that’s what I want, or even need.”

            I know he doesn’t want to let it go, but I can tell he respects my decision with his nod. “Alright, R. But we have to make a decision.”

            I sigh. “Surgery or radiation therapy?”

            He nods. “Those are the two things Joly said would work best.”

            I don’t want to do anything, I just want to wait and die, but I don’t dare tell Enjolras that. “I’m not sure how I feel about radiation therapy.”

            He nods. “That’s fine. I don’t want you to do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable.”

            _Then get me out of this conversation,_ I think, but I’m not stupid enough to say it aloud. “But…surgery…I mean, it sounds really dangerous.”

            Enjolras appears to be considering this. “It’s true that it has the lowest survival rate, but…”

            I bite my lip; hurt by the words he didn’t need to say. I’m going to die anyway. He’s not even giving me the low survival chance.

            There’s nothing I want to say, so I stay silent. Usually at this point, Enjolras says something to make me talk, but he doesn’t now. He knows.

            And so we sit in the kitchen we share, each needing comfort, but neither giving it.

            ~

            I invited all of our friends to come over at seven the next night, but at 6:45, I’m wishing I hadn’t. No matter how many times I say it to myself, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no easy way to tell your best friends you have cancer. That’s how it is.

            It wasn’t easy inviting Eponine, either. I called her this afternoon, trying to sound natural when she picked up.

            “Yeah?”

            “Eponine?”

            “Who else would it be, dumbass?”

            I sucked in my breath, knowing this could go either way; she could be really pissed, or teasing. “I wanted to invite you over tomorrow. Everyone’s coming, and I planned to tell them…”

            “I already know you have cancer.”

            It never got easier to hear. “I know, but I want you with me.”

            She exhaled. “I’ll come.”

            “Thank you.”

            She didn’t say anything for a while, and I knew she was waiting for me to hang up. Eponine does that a lot.

            I beat her at her own game, though, by breaking the silence. “I’m sorry, Ep.”

            To my surprise, she answers. “Me too.”

            I can tell she wants to change the subject, but I have more to say. “I was hurt, but I could have let it slide. I guess the cancer just got to my brain or something.”

            She sighs. “Well, no. I went too far, too. I should be nicer to you…”

            I wince. “Please don’t pity me because I’m sad little Grantaire with cancer.”

            Eponine laughs. “Oh, trust me, ‘Taire. That’s not an issue.”

            I chuckle with her, glad to have my best friend back-for awhile, anyway. Nothing is permanent anymore.

           

            The doorbell rings, and my stomach drops. I watch as Enjolras opens the door and Feuilly, our smiling ginger friend, comes in full view, with another friend, Bahorel, peeping behind.

            “Where’re the tunes, R?” he greets me. “The food, the people…what kind of party is this?”

            I have no idea how I manage a small smile, but I do. “Sorry, man. Not this time.”

            More and more of our friends trickle in, and I can feel my stomach faltering. Joly gives me a sad smile upon passing me, and I’m suddenly glad he came, even if he’s known before I have.

            I didn’t want to invite Marius and Cosette, but Enjolras told me I should, using the undying excuse. “You’d want to know if it were them.” Thanks for that inspiring tidbit, Apollo, but in case you’ve forgotten, it’s me with the terminal illness.

            But I did invite them, and as they walk in giggling and flirting, I suck in my breath.  What a fun day for Eponine.

            My best friend is the last to arrive, and I am shocked at how helpless she looks. Her rumpled hair and the dark rings around her eyes indicate she hasn’t slept, but with Eponine, that’s not surprising. What is is the fact that her spark-or, with Eponine, it’s more of a flame-seems to be dead. Her eyes dart around the room rather than penetrating one single person, her arms are drooping instead of being glued to her hips, and her traditional smirk is nowhere to be seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was scared.

            I usher her in and close the door with a surprising finality, turning to face the friends all cramped in my living room.

            If this were a movie, they’d all fall silent at this point, but as real life dictates, they’re all still chattering away. I look to Enjolras for help, and he nods and opens his mouth. Enjolras is brilliant at getting a crowd silent.

            “Actually, we’re here to talk about something pretty serious, guys,” he shouts, and just like that, the chatter is gone.

            “What’s up, Enj?” Courfeyrac asks, and for a second, I think that Enjolras is going to answer, and tell him the entire reason why we’re all here, but he doesn’t.

            “Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, and I realize that this is even worse. All eyes are on me. Combeferre’s head is tilted, like it always is when he’s thinking. Courf is still smiling, and my heart breaks thinking about how soon it’ll be before that grin is gone. Next to him, Jehan is looking thoughtful, and sitting on the floor a few feet away, Marius and Cosette are holding hands. Suddenly, I wish Enjolras were holding my hand, but shake my head at the ridiculousness of the idea. As I feel Joly’s gaze on me, I look directly to his left to see Bossuet, whose lower lip is trembling. It occurs to me that Joly must have told him, which I’d usually take offense to, but in light of recent circumstances, I don't care. Bahorel and Feuilly are making faces at each other, until Feuilly catches my eye and grins. Not being capable of returning the smile, I quickly flick my eyes to Eponine, searching for some reassurance.

            I don’t get any, though. Her eyes are shut tight, and she’s biting her lip. Slowly, it occurs to me that she’s trying not to hear what I’m about to say. It makes me want to hug her; how small she looks. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t place who it is until she turns her head a certain way. _Gavroche._

            My little man isn’t here.

            I take a deep breath as I try to convince myself that it’s for the best. He’s only a teenager; he shouldn’t have to learn about my unfortunate mortality. Maybe I won’t tell him at all.

            Enjolras clears his throat, and I turn to look at him. He’s a good actor-other than the slight frown on his face, you’d never know he has to deal with a dying boyfriend.

            Unless, of course, he doesn’t care.

            It’s the thought that can’t escape my mind, and maybe it’s for this reason that the elaborate speech I had planned flies out the window and I blurt out, “I have cancer.”

            I don’t know what I was expecting in terms of reactions, but it’s not what I get. Nobody moves, or does anything at all except stare at me. Finally, Feuilly is the first to speak. “That’s not funny.”

            Eponine chokes out a sob as I realize what my friends are thinking. I open my mouth, but there’s nothing I can make come out. I look to Enjolras, but he seems just as lost as I am. On the other side of the room, Joly and Bossuet exchange a look. After observing the five of us, everyone else in the room seems to realize the horrible truth: it’s not a joke.

            The room explodes. Bahorel leaps to his feet, with Courfeyrac not far behind. Combeferre looks at Enjolras as if he needs more confirmation, while Jehan’s eyes dart around the room like he wants to be told it’s all a lie. Cosette is crying silently, and Marius is too scared to comfort her. Feuilly is silent for once, not wanting to believe. My heart aches as I realize he’s already lost his family; now I’m deserting him, too.

            I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can do to make it better. To erase their fear and make it okay again. Everything is out of my control. I bite my lip in an attempt not to cry. My friends can’t see me like this.

            Suddenly, I feel Enjolras’s hand on my back, and Eponine comes to join him, taking my hand. They’re both shaking, and I know I am too, but they’re _there._

            “Yes, Grantaire has been diagnosed with liver cancer,” Enjolras says, and Courfeyrac lets out something in between a moan and a sob. “But we’re going to fight it. It’s not over yet, and we trust that you won’t give up on us.”

            Everyone nods except Joly and Bossuet, who are looking at each other. I feel awkward talking about my illness in the same room as someone who is much more knowledgeable about it than I am, and it looks like I have reason to be. Bossuet doesn’t believe Enjolras-not without confirmation from Joly, anyway.

            And, truth be told, I don’t know if I do either.


	5. Chapter 5

As Enjolras’s and my respective best friends, Combeferre and Eponine stay later than everyone else. Eponine nudges me right off the bat, so we go off to the bedroom and let Combeferre and Enjolras stay in the kitchen.

            She wipes the mascara from her cheeks as she turns to face me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            I love her for asking first. Enjolras never would have done that. I take advantage of being asked and shake my head. I just want to forget.

            Eponine nods, “Okay,” She claps her hands and slowly, a smile spreads across her face. “Then may I request that I tell you something?”

            “Ep, of course.”

            “I have a date Friday night,” she announces, and for the first time all day, I smile for real. “With Courfeyrac?” I ask.

            Her smirk disappears. “How did you know?”

            _Shit._ “Uh. Lucky guess?” I chance a charming smile.

            I can tell it’s failed when she starts tapping her foot. “Mhmm. Try again.”

            I sigh. “I didn’t want you to get upset.”

            “I realize that, ‘Taire. How did you know?”

            Bracing myself for the explosion, I bite my lip. “I heard he liked you.”

            “Heard from who?”

            I wince. “Gavroche.”

            “My _brother?!”_ she shrieks. “ _He_ knew and didn’t tell me?!”

            “How would you have taken it?” I argue. “He and I aren’t stupid-if we would have told you, you’d have called us liars!”  
            She takes a deep breath as she seems to realize the truth of this. “Alright. Fine. Anyway. I’m going out with Courf on Friday.”

            I smile. “That’s great, Ep. Are you excited?”

            Her happy demeanor changes. “I don’t know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

            Confused, I nod to let her know she can go on.

            “I mean, we’ve been friends for all this time, but I never…I mean, for me, it’s always been…”

            “Marius.” I finish. I know the feeling all too well.

            “Right. Right! And on top of _that,_ when has Courf ever crushed on _anybody?_ I mean, is it even _possible_ for one person to hold his attention for more than ten minutes? I love Courfeyrac to death, but this just isn’t a thing that happens!”

            She looks completely stressed out, and I gently place my hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you’re different to him, Ep. Special.”

            I’m not prepared for the hug, but I welcome it all the same. “You’re so good at making me feel better,” she whispers. “I wish I could do the same for you.”

            I pull back. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Dying seems to have made that task difficult for everyone.”

            She looks even more upset at that. “’Taire…”

            Damnit, I messed up again. “I’m sorry.”

            Eponine looks at me as if I’m crazy. “Apologizing makes it worse!”

            I’m tempted to apologize again, but I don’t chance getting her mad right now. “Well, have fun with Courf, okay? Give the poor guy a chance.”

            She smiles. “I will. Do you want to go see what Combeferre and Enjolras are up to?”

            I nod, and we make our way to the kitchen.

            However, three steps from the doorway, I’m wishing I hadn’t.

            Though I can’t see him-and, thankfully, he can’t see me-there is no doubt that Enjolras is sobbing.

            _Real_ sobbing. Not getting slightly teary like he does with me. He is weeping to Combeferre at our kitchen table.

            And it’s paralyzing.

            “It’s worse than anything, ‘Ferre. Worse than if it had been me,” he says, and the way his voice shakes breaks my heart.

            Combeferre speaks calmly, quietly. “Have you told him how you feel?”

            Enjolras takes a deep breath, though his voice is still thick with tears. “No. I don’t want to make him feel any worse. Plus, it doesn’t seem to matter at all to him. He just accepts that he’s…that he’s going to…”

            _Goddamnit, just say it,_ I think. _I am going to die._

            Combeferre speaks again. “Have you considered that he might be trying to distance you so you’re not so upset when it happens?”

            God bless Combeferre.

            Enjolras is sniffling now. “But how could he think that when I care about him so much?”

            Combeferre’s voice is gentle, even when his words are not. “Do you always show it?”

            _No,_ I think, _no, some days all you do is tell me what I’m doing wrong, and treat me like a child, and never tell me what you really think, and it hurts so much, but what’s worse, what’s so much worse, are the days when you talk to me like I do matter, and kiss me, and tell me how glad you are that I’m yours, and I’m left wondering what I did before to make me so unlovable._

            But-surprisingly enough-that’s not what Enjolras says. Instead, he mumbles, “No…not always…I just, I mean, doesn’t he _know?_ ”

            “Not without you telling him, I’d guess,” Combeferre says kindly, and I wish I could see the look on Enjolras’s face.

            But within seconds, I’m glad to be hidden, as he sighs and says bitterly, “He always does this! He never tells me what he needs, or what he’s thinking, or _anything!_ I know he’s upset, but is that's no reason to shut me out!”

            I would give anything not to look over and see Eponine nodding.

            Rational as ever, Combeferre keeps his head. “You have to be patient with him, Enjolras. We all show our sorrow in different ways.”

            _Yeah,_ I think. _Be patient._

  "But…” Enjolras starts crying again. Jesus Christ. “He loves me.” There’s a tremble in his voice I’ve never heard before. “Right?”

            I have always been told I am impulsive, and I suppose this is true; I never look before I leap, or think before I speak. I trust a little voice in me to know.

            But even that little voice doesn’t have a clue what I’m doing as I step into the doorway and echo, “Right.”

            Enjolras’s face-a mix of confusion, anger, horror, still streaked with tears-instantly sends off alarm bells in my head, each ring telling me I’ve screwed up. “You were eavesdropping?”

            My nod starts off ashamed, but slowly, as I think over everything I’ve just heard, it grows more defiant. “Don’t I have a right to know what’s being said about me?”

            “How do you I know you haven’t just done the same with Eponine?” he yells back, and Eponine steps out, too. “Because I wouldn’t lie; he and I talked about my weekend plans.”

            Enjolras raises his eyebrows coolly, and I’m reminded with a pang just how much my boyfriend and best friend dislike each other. “Eponine. Why am I not surprised that, despite Grantaire's cancer, the two of you talked about  _you_ in there."

            I grab my hair by the ends. “I don’t want to talk about it all the time, Enjolras!" I shriek, frustrated. “It’s nice just to forget sometimes!”

            Combeferre looks like he’s about to say something, but Enjolras gets there first. “Tell me how I am possibly supposed to forget that my days with you are numbered!”

            My little voice is telling me to hug him, but Combeferre interrupts. “Calm down,” he tells us, and for once, I wish he would get mad, just so I could feel something.

            “Calm down,” he repeats, and as I meet Enjolras’s eyes for a split second, I can tell he’s wishing the same thing.

            Combeferre continues. “You guys have a lack of communication here. What you need,” He pauses. “is to _talk_ to each other.”

            _We do._  I think. _We just don’t listen._

Enjolras nods. He takes a deep breath. He wipes his eyes.

            He looks at me again, and this time, when I hear the voice, I listen to what it’s telling me, take his face in my hands, and kiss him.

            He is easily the most surprised in the room; Combeferre and Eponine seem to have expected it. As we break apart, he says hoarsely, “So, I’m guessing you do love me, then.”

            In response, I kiss him again, until Eponine speaks, her bored tone coating over the words. “Okay, guys. We get it.”

            I lightly peck him on the lips before turning to face our friends. “Yes?”

            Eponine rolls her eyes. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

            To no one’s surprise, Combeferre keeps his head. “Okay, so can the two of you talk? Really talk?”

            We both nod, and Combeferre raises his eyebrows. “Do you need me here?”

            Enjolras and I share a look, and in the end, it’s me who answers for the both of us. “No,” I tell him. “Thank you, but we need to be alone.”

            As our friends traipse out the door, Enjolras looks at me. “You have no intention of working things out, do you?”

            The picture of innocence, I feign surprise. “What? No!”

            He looks at me again, not quite so angry this time. “You _don’t!_ ”

            One hand on his back, I steer him to the living room. “That’s crazy, Apollo. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            As I sit him down on the couch, he looks up at me, his golden hair blocking his eyes a bit. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, Grantaire.”

            I kiss him on the nose lightly. “And what is that?”

            He flushes red, but not too red. Not yet. “You shooed them out of here so you could make out with me.”

            “No!” I say, as I nuzzle into his neck; planting kisses along his collarbone. “Whatever gave you that idea?” I mumble before lightly biting above the spot I just kissed.

            He moans softly, and I’m gone. “Grantaire…”

            “Yes?” I lift my head and try to keep the wide grin from spreading across my face completely. “Would you prefer if I kissed you someplace else?”

            His face is completely serious when he looks into my eyes, and for a split second, I think he’s going to scold me, and that Combeferre’s talk will have meant nothing.

            “Only if I get to do this first,” he says, and then he is kissing me, biting my lower lip and running his tongue along my teeth, and it is all I can do to kiss him back, to run my hands though his hair as he plays with the hem of my shirt, to keep breathing as the man I have been in love with for most of my life shows me just how much he loves me, too.

            It only takes a few minutes before we are both shirtless on the couch, his heartbeat steady against my head, my breath coming fast. _What a beautiful feeling,_ I think, _to know that if you lean back, someone will be there to catch you._

Events like these are rare with us-we get physical pretty often, but neither of us usually have the self-control to stop it before it spirals into sex. I love this feeling, though; the aftermath, where we’re both calmed down and he’s kissing my head and whispering in my ear, the feeling where I just get to lay against him, feeling his love.

            “Oh, my Grantaire,’ he says, pausing to plant a long kiss above my ear. “Don’t you know how much I love you?”

            I snuggle further into his chest. “I do now.”

            I only feel slightly guilty about my word choice. It’s true-I do know right now. It’s just that in a few days, I know I’m not going to believe it.

            But right now, I am being held, and despite the fact that I once made him think I was good for nothing, despite the fact that I hurt him as I try so hard to spare him, despite the fact that I have made him sob, he loves me, and I really would be a fool to push him away when he’s holding me like this and calling me his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like it could feasibly be the end...but it is not. There will be much more.


	6. Chapter 6

Eponine is barely awake when I call her the next morning in a panic.

            “What _is_ it Grantaire? It’s nine in the morning, you know.”

            “I know! But Enjolras-“

            “Don’t you have another appointment today?”

            “That’s not until noon. Ep, he-“

            “Can it wait?”

            “No!” I take a deep breath before speaking. “Eponine, he wants me to tell my family.”

            She’s silent for a bit, and I bite my lip as I know she’s processing this. Eponine isn’t always very alert in the morning.

            Then she says, very low, “Are you telling me he doesn’t know?”

            Now it’s my turn to be silent.

            “Grantaire.”

            Still nothing.

            “Good God, Grantaire, you’ve been dating for four years. When did you plan to tell him?”

            I wouldn’t dare admit this to anyone but Eponine. “When we were engaged.”

            “Oh, Jesus,” she says, but I know she’s not really mad. “Well, I’m thinking you have to tell him now, ‘Taire.”

            I fall mute again.

            “Grantaire.”

            I keep my lips shut tight, and she takes on a gentler tone. “Grantaire, it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t tell people things that might change their opinion of you, but I don’t think this is anything that would make him love you less.”

            My voice wobbles as I speak. “I always thought he and I would just sit down and _talk_ one day. Reveal _everything._ ”

            “Oh, honey,” she says, and for once, the pity doesn’t anger me.

            “We’re not going to get to do that, are we?”         

            “You are, Grantaire. Right now.”

            So I hang up and go to find Enjolras, my knees shaking.

            He’s reading in the kitchen, in a tight shirt-probably one of mine-and flannel pajama pants. I start to ask him what he’s reading before realizing it’s a cancer pamphlet. Instead, I opt to start the conversation by saying, “So, uh, about what you said about my family…”

            I’ve caught his attention now, and he places the pamphlet on the table. “What about it?”

            Absentmindedly, I reach up twirl a finger around one of my curls. “I can’t.”

            His brows furrow. “Can’t?”

            I take his hand. “Can I tell you something?”

            He rubs his thumb over my hand. “Of course.”

            Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. “So, when I was thirteen, right after my sister left for college, I told my parents I was bisexual, with a preference toward men.”

            His face changes and I’m struck with fear. “You knew _that,_ didn’t you?”

            Enjolras nods. “I knew that. I just can’t believe I didn’t think to ask you about any of this before.”

            I don’t know what to say to that. “Oh. Well, anyway. They weren’t very happy with it, but since I’d made it clear that I was gone once I turned eighteen, I guess they figured they only had to deal with my gayness for a few more years. But they were really unhappy with it. I didn’t give a fuck, but I remember how angry they were. Especially my dad.”

            Another nod.

            “So, three years later, I’m at the house of this guy I’ve been fucking-sorry about that, by the way, you’re much better-and we have this huge fight. I mean _huge._ And he kicks me out.”

            Enjolras looks slightly angry on my behalf, but lets me continue.

            “I’m ten miles from home and there’s no way he’s driving me, and I sure as fuck can’t call my parents. But I know my sister lives around here, even though I don’t know where. So I find a gas station and call her from a pay phone. She’s not thrilled, but she says she’ll come.”

            Enjolras nods, and I can tell he’s nervous about whatever I might say next.

            I bite my lip, and tears fill my eyes. “But she didn’t. I kept calling and calling until police picked up.” The sob in my voice is ugly-really ugly. “She’d been in an accident. Some other guy was driving drunk. And she…”

            I can’t finish, but I don’t have to; Enjolras has taken me in his arms and is letting me cry into his shoulder, and I’m surprised to feel that he’s shaking, too. “I’m so sorry, Grantaire. That’s awful,” he tells me, and for once I don’t shrug it off, because it is.

            I take a deep, shuddering breath and sit up. “There’s more, though.”

            His face is even angelic when tearstained. “You don’t have to.”

            “I know.” I nod. “But I need to. For myself.”

  
            He accepts this, and I finish the story. “And when my parents came, well, you know. They wondered why she had been driving around at three in the morning. And they realized where I had been, and where she was headed…”

            Enjolras’s eyes widen, and I continue before he can interrupt. “And they put two and two together.”

            I pause. “Maybe it would have been okay if I was straight. But now I wasn’t just their bisexual son.  I was their bisexual son who was responsible for their daughter’s death. And that was just too much, so they kicked me out. Kicked me out and,” I suck my breath in. “Disowned me.”

            Instantly, Enjolras is on his feet, the anger evident on his face. “They _what?!_ ”

            “Apollo!”

            But he’s off. There is no stopping Enjolras once he has a cause. “That’s not right! It wasn’t your fault!”

            “It was, though, Apollo.” I say gently. “I made her come get me.”

            “She was your _sister!”_ he retorts, and even now, the past tense stings. “That’s what siblings _do!_ ”

            I don’t argue. I know he’s right. She and I were close; she was the only one who supported me when I came out, and was always there on days when our parents went too far. I know she’d be heartbroken right now if she could see me.

            Enjolras, at last, sits down. “So you were homeless. At sixteen.”

            I nod. “I went home to get my stuff and my dad wouldn’t even let me in. I had to come back when no one was home. They changed the locks, so I broke a window.”

            Enjolras exhales. “Jesus, Grantaire…I can’t believe I never asked you about this. How stupid could I be?”

            I’m surprised at his sudden self-loathing. “Apollo, it’s not your fault. I just had to tell you, because, well…” I chance a laugh. “You want me to tell my family, but two members are currently pretending I don’t exist, and the only one who would is six feet under.”

            He sighs again. “But how did you _live_? I mean, _where_? And…and…”

            In all my times of telling the story, no one has ever asked me that. “Well, it didn’t take long to figure out how awful it was to see my parents round town. I knew I had to get out. Move away.”

            I take a deep breath. “So I did. I had some money, and I just bought a train ticket to Paris. I’d lived in Étiolles before.”

            “But an apartment…” Enjolras whispers, and it strikes me as odd that he’s so nervous even when he knows I turn out okay. Cancerous, but okay.

            I let out a hollow laugh. “Believe it or not, this is the part of the story where Grantaire is lucky. When I opened my sketchbook on the train, I saw what my father had done to it.”

            Enjolras’s eyes grow wide. “He ruined it?”

            “Mutilated every page. Scribbled on them, tore them, he’d even burned a few. His only son.”

            His eyes fill with tears again. “Oh, _Grantaire…_ ”

            I hold a finger up. “No, don’t, or I’ll cry, too. The man next to me on the train saw the drawings and, thinking I’d done it myself, complimented me on how artistic they were. Most of them had been portraits. I probably should have mentioned that. But, anyway, he told me how terrific they were, and that his son’s school had this really incredible art department, and asked which high school I’d be going in the fall. When I told him I didn’t know if I could go or not, he asked for my e-mail address and told me he thought he might be able to get me a scholarship.”

            Enjolras smiles for the first time. “Oh, Grantaire…” he says again, but it’s different this time, more relieved.

            I can’t help but grin, too. “And he even helped me sell some of my work. And with that money plus the job I got giving kids art lessons, I was able to get an apartment and pay for utilities and food and whatever. It cut it close some months, but…” I shrug. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

            Enjolras takes my hand again. “You are. And I’m so glad.”

            He furrows his brow. “Did you ever find out who the man on the train was?”

            My mischievous smile comes out to play. “It was Papa Pontmercy.”

            Enjolras’s eyes grow wide. “Marius’s dad? Oh, my God. Things make so much sense now. How you stick up for him a lot…when he introduced us to you junior year…”

            I nod. “He was in my art class, and apparently, his dad had told him to keep an eye out for me. When he went to talk to me, he realized how cool I am,” I roll my eyes here,  “and introduced me to his friends, including a _really_ good-looking blonde.”

            He nudges me. “Shut up.”

            I laugh. “What can I say? I was young and foolish. He had me smitten.”

            “Stop.”

            I look up at him. “He still does, in fact.”

            It’s honest-one of the only sweet things I’ve told him since diagnosis, I realize, and I resolve to change this as soon as I can.

            Enjolras hasn’t taken his eyes off or me, and I become slightly self-conscious. “What is it, Apollo?”

            He keeps looking at me. “It’s just…I remember falling in love with you, and feeling so vulnerable. And now…Now, I’m just fine, but it’s you who’s unstable.”

            “But I’m _not,_ Enjolras.” I speak emphatically, without raising my voice for once. “I don’t _like_ the idea of dying and leaving you behind, but I’ve embraced it. I know it’s the truth. I’m not unstable. I only am if I let myself become that way, don’t you see?”

            It’s a long time before he speaks again. “How terrible it is to love something that death can touch,” he quotes, and I know exactly what he means.

            He takes me in his arms again, so that we’re both sharing the chair. “I have one more question on your story.”

            “Shoot.”

            “You don’t draw anymore.”

  
            It isn’t a question, but my answer is more important than pointing that out. “It was really rough for me then. I talk about it casually now, but Apollo, I’ll be honest: it was brutal. Every day was a struggle, and my art was what got me through.”

            He nods.

            “And now, drawing reminds me of that. How purely awful it was. And I don’t want to go back there.”

            After a few moments of silence, I add, somewhat embarrassed, “I started drinking then, too.”

  
            He doesn’t say anything, and for once, I have a strange need to fill the silence. “It was a mistake, and-“

            The palm of his hand silences me. “Thank you for telling me.”

            This is the end of the conversation, and I know it. We have to leave soon for my appointment anyway. After a long talk last night, he and I decided that, uncomfortable as it may be, surgery would be my best option. If I wait long enough, I figure, I may not have to do it at all-not that I’m mentioning this to Enjolras.

            It’s true that I don’t want to leave him behind, especially not now that I’ve opened up to him about my past. I really, really, love Enjolras.

            But if it’s a choice between abandoning him and staying to watch him suffer at my hand, I’ll leave him behind in a heartbeat.

            As I open my closet to get my coat, a flash of green catches my eye, and I know immediately what it is. I sigh before slowly watching my hand reach for the cover. As I keep my eye on it, I don’t even consider another option. Carefully, I take out my sketchbook and stare at it.

            I’ve taken it out before, but always put it back after a few seconds. Today, I don’t. Who knows? I might just use it. 


	7. Chapter 7

The next two weeks fly past in a tornado of tests and dates and discussions and worries. Enjolras and I have a few disagreements, but always get back to a home base. Joly sets a date for my surgery and warns me of the 15% survival rate. I try not to think about the effects of my absence.

            And then…a shift.

            It’s Bossuet who suggests it, no doubt after watching all the hard work Joly’s putting in for me: Why don’t we have a party?

            It’s not like how it is with Courf, who uses the term so lightly that you could call my tests with Joly fiestas. With Bossuet, you know he means _party._

Our group has had get-togethers since my diagnosis, of course, but after going to a few, Enjolras and I quickly realized how awkward we felt. No one knew what to say to us, and we felt fake striking up conversations with them. Somehow, somewhere, there had been a change, and now we understood things our friends didn’t.

            If I can say one thing for having cancer, it’s that it really has made me closer with Enjolras. We understand each other so much better. For all our fighting, I know we have a better relationship now.

            And, when I don’t survive my surgery in two more weeks, it’ll be over.

            I know there’s a small chance I’ll live, but I’m not stupid: my health is definitely getting worse. As days go on, I feel shittier and shittier, and I know my time is running out.

            Which is precisely why Bossuet is suggesting a party. Where everyone comes, not just a handful of us. A _real_ party.

            I’ll just make myself upset if I admit how excited I am for it. It’s tonight at Combeferre’s, as he’s the only one in an actual house, rather than an apartment like the rest of us. After yet another doctor appointment-Joly wants to make sure my body is ready for surgery-I stop at the apartment where Enjolras is waiting. “Hey, you.”

            He doesn’t look up from what he’s writing. “Hey.”

            I take a seat next to him. “What are you writing?”

            “Some of your paperwork.” He lifts his head up and kisses me, a long kiss. It’s a common occurrence now that we’ve both come to terms with the fact that there’s not much sand left in our hourglass.

            I try not to get swept up in him, but it’s impossible. His lips invite me in softly, and I can’t help but say yes.

            As we break apart slowly, I take a finger and run it along his cheek tenderly. “Apollo,” I whisper, “Fairest of them all.”

            He kisses my finger as it comes close to his lips, and I shiver. If we don’t stop now, we will never get to the party-not that it would be the end of the world.

            I rest my hand on his knee as I try to concentrate. “Are you ready for my going-away party?”

            “Don’t call it that.” He looks upset, and I find myself wishing there was some way to take it back.

            He must somehow be wishing the same thing, because he tries again. “Anyway, that’s not what it is. We’re just celebrating friends.”

            _For what is most likely the last time with all of us._ I think, and immediately bite my lip to distract myself from that thought. I’ve known my string of lasts was coming, but that doesn’t make me any more ready for it to begin.

            But everything begins, and everything ends, and it is not long before Enjolras and I get in the car and pull into Combeferre’s driveway.

            I only get a nod and a smile from 'Ferre, but Enjolras receives a hug, and I find an absurdly jealous feeling in my abdomen. Why do I care whether or not someone else is hugging Enjolras? It’s not like I can stay with him anyway.

            A picture of Enjolras and Combeferre together after my death comes in full view of my mind, and angrily, I shake my head. I shouldn’t do this to myself. Not tonight.

            I wander in the living room, where Muschietta, Bossuet, and Jehan have already taken a spot. “ _Grantaire,_ ” Muschietta says softly, and I realize she hasn’t seen me since Courf’s party ages ago. I look different, I know. Weaker. Thinner. And, as Eponine’s little sister, Azelma, puts it, ‘the fire’ in my eyes is gone.

            I hug Muschietta, making eye contact with Jehan over her shoulder. He gives me a sad look and I realize that there is no way I’m going to get my carefree night.

            Everyone else arrives within the next fifteen minutes, and it’s Courf who stands on the coffee table to organize once everyone has taken a seat.

            “Alright. Well, this is the first get-together with everyone in awhile, and it’s good to see you all. In order to make sure the night goes famously, I’d like to lay down a couple of rules.

            “First, there will be no cliques off doing someone else. We all will stick together. No drama. No venting. No makeouts. This means you, Enjolras and Grantaire. Dry hump on your own time.”

            I blush because he’s right. Next to me, Enjolras is doing the same.

            Courfeyrac continues. “Second, we’re not going to have any mention of the c-word all night.”

            “Cunt.”

            “Not that c-word, Bahorel.”

            “Cock.”

            “Think, Bahorel. The c-word that has made all of our lives hellish for the past three weeks.”

            Bahorel is silent upon realization, and I can feel my cheeks start to color again. _Cancer._ I think. _Cancer cancer cancer._

            Courfeyrac clears his throat. “Anyway. We’re all unfortunately aware of it, and no one wants to be reminded, so I’m banning the word, aight?”

            Nods from everyone.

            “And lastly, while it’s important that this is a fun party for you, make it fun for everyone. Don’t be a dick.”

            “Yeah, Cosette,” Feuilly jokes.

            “I think Jehan is the real offender here,” adds Bossuet, and we all laugh.

            Courfeyrac claps his hands. “And with that, let the festivities begin!”

            We start with Twister, and if anyone notices that I’m a lot weaker they don’t say anything. We joke and laugh, and of course, all couples find some way to kiss in our garbled positions. I notice Courf looking at Eponine, and wonder how their date went.  I make a mental note to say something later.

            Our next game is-inevitably-Spin the Bottle, and Courf insists that everyone play. Joly begins, and, as luck would have it, the bottle is pointing straight at Bossuet.

            “C’mere, you,” he croons, throwing his arms around Bossuet’s neck and kissing him.

            It’s Marius’s turn next, and he looks around as if asking if he has to when the bottle lands on Feuilly. Courfeyrac, our officiator, nods, and Marius kisses Feuilly lightly.

            The game proceeds without too much excitement. I kiss Cosette, and Jehan kisses me. Nothing causes any controversy until Combeferre’s turn.

            The bottle lands on Enjolras.

            I have no reason to be jealous. I know Enjolras loves me, and I’m not even sure if Combeferre likes men.

            But regardless, I feel much better when they break apart and Enjolras is looking at me gently.

            Feuilly and Muschietta go, and then it’s Enjolras’s turn.

            Of course I’m hoping the bottle will land on me-I can never kiss him enough-but I know the low odds of that. It feels like I’m holding my breath as the bottle slows its rotation…

            And points at Eponine.

            If the room wasn’t silent before, it is now. Everyone knows of their somewhat-ill feelings toward each other, and of course that they’re the two most important people in my life.

            It’s Courf who speaks first. “So, do they still have to, like…?”

            Then Jehan. “If Grantaire says it’s okay.”

            I widen my eyes and nod. “Grantaire says it’s okay!”

            Eponine walks over and promptly straddles my boyfriend. “Let’s do this for real, loverboy,” she says matter-of-factly, and presses her lips to his.

            When I gave my permission, I didn’t know this meant tongue would be involved, but I barely care. It’s actually kind of amusing…and hot.

            When Eponine finally breaks away from him, Enjolras looks dazed, and we all laugh.

            “I’m going to need a ranking, Enj,” Bahorel teases. “Eponine, ‘Ferre, Grantaire, who’s best?”

            “Grantaire,” he starts decisively, “Then Eponine, then Combeferre.”

            “Ooo, ‘Ferre, last place,” Muschietta crows.

            “In my defense, she kissed him a lot harder than I did,” Combeferre says evenly. “Also, she’s done more kissing than I have.”

            “Slut,” coughs Feuilly, and Eponine grins wickedly. “Want to make it one more, ginger?”

            “As a married man, I’ll decline,” he replies. “I’ve already kissed Joly tonight, and I’m trying to keep it to the bare minimum.”

            Yeah, where is she?” Bahorel asks.

            “She doesn’t really like you guys,” Feuilly responds. “Says you’re a bad influence.”

            “I’ll drink to that,” says Courfeyrac, raising his glass. Everyone mirrors him except me, and I look around awkwardly. Cosette isn’t drinking either. Could she be…?

            But before I have time to ponder this, Courf announces a game of Truth or Dare.

            It’s not very interesting. We’re too close a group of friends to be very surprised at anything we hear, and nobody’s especially excellent at picking dares. The game fizzles before long, and we pop in a movie.

            It isn’t until a slow part, an hour and a half later, that I look to see if Enjolras wants to make out and realize he’s not there.

            Panicking, I look around, sure that Combeferre will be gone too, but he’s sitting between Bossuet and Jehan.

            I scan the room to see who else is missing, and my jaw drops with the irony.

            Courfeyrac.

            After telling us not to be cliquey, he goes to have girl talk with my boyfriend.

            Trying to be inconspicuous, I start padding down the hall to find them. When I hear Courfeyrac’s voice, I know I’ve hit the jackpot.

            “I just…she’s breaking my heart, Enj,” he says. “I want her so much. Not in a sexy way, either. Like, I want her to be mine. It’s never been like this with any other girl.”

            Silence. Then Enjolras’s unmistakable voice. “I know how you feel.”

            Courf takes this as an invitation to go on. “And not only that, it’s like she doesn’t even know that's what I'm feeling! She’s completely oblivious!”

            _Oh, Eponine,_ I think.

            Enjolras speaks again, more slowly. “Be patient. This is how I felt with Grantaire. You just have to let her know she’s special, because I’m guessing that right now she doesn’t believe you.”

            When Courfeyrac replies, it’s softer. “I’m sorry, Enj. I shouldn’t be complaining about this to you. You’ve got your own romantic complications.”

            The response he gets is classic Enjolras. “My problems don’t affect my wanting to help you, Courfeyrac.”

            That’s all I need to hear before stomping away, not even making an effort to be silent. With every step I’m reminded of the word, _problem, problem, problem._

That’s all I am to Enjolras, isn’t it?

            It takes a few minutes before I realize what I’m craving, but when I do, I don’t even think twice. Impulsive Grantaire strikes again. I race down to the kitchen, where, as I’d hoped, nobody is there.

            Combeferre is always organized, but I’ve never appreciated it this much until now. There are four blue coolers against the wall, neatly labeled _water_ , _soda_ , _liquor_ ,and _other_.

            I only hesitate for a second before opening the third one.

            My choices are overwhelming, but I settle on mixing some vodka with red wine. It makes most people sick, but I’ve had it enough times to have built up an immunity. It sure gets you drunk fast, though, something I used to love.

            I stare at the glass. I could put it down at this point, I know, and walk away. I’ve been clean for so many years, and I already have liver problems.

            It seems to stare back at me, taunting me to take a drink. _You’re going to die anyway_ , it’s saying, the words no one has dared tell me for three weeks.

            Slowly, I bring my lips to the glass.

            Enjolras will be livid.


	8. Chapter 8

Enjolras is livid.

                  I should have realized this when I woke up on the couch, of course, but I don’t. I wander into the kitchen, where he’s standing at the stove.

                  “Morning.”

                  He doesn’t respond.

                  “Is that an omelet?”

                  Nothing.

                  “Smells good.”

                  Not a word.

                  I take a seat. “Does your head hurt as bad as mine does?”

                  The omelet flips.

                  “That was some party.”

                  He whirls around. “Do you even remember what happened last night?”

                  I see his response as a victory. “Not especially.”

                  He holds his composure. “Well, I think you’ll find that I’m so unresponsive because I remember.”

                  And that is that.

                  ~

                  An hour later, he’s taking a shower, and resignedly, I knock on the door. “Enjolras, can I come in? I have to use the bathroom.”

                  His voice is harsh. “Why can’t you use the one by the bedroom?”

                  _The bedroom, not our bedroom._ I sigh. “You know why.”

                  He wants to make me say it. “No, I don’t.”

                  “Enjolras…”

                  “Why can’t you use the other bathroom?”

                  I take a deep breath. “Because Hurricane Vomit hit it.”

                  “Oh, yes,” he replies. “I forgot.”

                  _Forgot, my ass,_ I think, but I don’t dare make him angrier. “Can I come in?”

                  “Fine.” His voice is clipped, but he opens the door.

                  He’s shaving, and doesn’t even look at me as I walk behind him. Once I finish and start washing my hands, he’s already on his way out. Angrily, I say, “It wasn’t that big of a deal!”  
                  This was a mistake.

                  Furious, he turns around. “Say that again.”

                  I will not repeat myself. I will not repeat myself. I will not repeat myself.

                  “It wasn’t that big of a deal!”

                  Shit.

                  The fury in his eyes is raw. “Wasn’t it?” he almost whispers. “Really?”

                  I decide not to speak for once.

                  “Grantaire, when Bossuet came to find me in Combeferre’s room, and when he said it was you, and I should come quick, I thought you were dead.”

                  _Oh._

                  “I thought you were dead, and that my last memory of you would be holding your hand while Bahorel was dared to do the worm on top of Combeferre.”

                  I stay silent.

                  “Grantaire, you do not know the sheer panic that went though my mind in that moment, because it is incomparable to anything I have ever felt.”

                  I open my mouth to apologize, but he cuts me off. “I am not done.”

                  “But you weren’t dead, Grantaire. In fact, I would say that you were pretty lively, dancing around and tickling Feuilly. Wouldn’t you?”

                  “Enjolras-“

                  “No!” he says, raising his voice for the first time, and then lowering it to continue. “I looked at all of our friends, wondering which of them had made you drink, because I was sure, Grantaire, that you would never do that to yourself. Never.”

                  He pauses here, and when he speaks again, his voice is shaking. “Do you want me to say it, Grantaire? Do you want to hear me say it?”

                  “No!”  
                  “I WAS WRONG!”              

                  Tears stream down his face. “I was _wrong,_ ” he repeats, softly. “Because when I asked who made you do it, they told me they just walked in on you like that. Drunk.

                  “I mean, _God,_ Grantaire, you had mixed _wine_ and _vodka._ Were you trying to _kill_ yourself? Did you not realize what that would _do_ to me? I already can’t handle the idea of you dying of cancer; how did you think _suicide_ would affect me?”

                  Through it all, I can’t help but marvel at Enjolras’s gift for keeping a crowd-even if it’s just me-completely captivated.

                  “Enj, I-“

                  “ _No!_ ” he says again. _“No,_ Grantaire! You don’t _get it!_ You had everyone, especially me, worried _sick!_ After you worked so hard-God _damn_ it, Grantaire, after everything Joly did to try and fix your liver, you-you _destroyed_ yourself!”

                  His breath is coming fast. “And you destroyed me,” he adds quietly.

                  What can I say? “Apollo, I’m sorry.”

                  “ _Don’t!_ ” he says, really starting to cry now, “call me _Apollo!_ ”

                  And he stands there, in the hallway, sobbing, with his red shirt buttoned wrong and his blonde hair not brushed yet, and even though he is usually tall, he is slumped and you cannot tell, and some men will try to hide their sobs and some men will not, but Enjolras does not know what kind of man he is, because he seems to be doing both, and so, I walk over, and take him in my arms, and I am not sure if I love him because he lets me hold him or if he lets me hold him because I love him.

                  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, cradling his head. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

                  He shifts closer to me, but doesn’t say a word, although I know better than to move away. I cover his neck with apology kisses and whisper “I’m sorry” again.

                  I lift his head to make him look at me. “I fucked up. I royally fucked up, and I’m sorry.”

                  He starts to respond, but I don’t let him. “No, listen. I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you all the time, and for getting cancer and leaving you behind-“ Tears fill my eyes here, “and for pushing you away because of it and then wanting you back when I feel guilty and for calling you Apollo all the time and for getting drunk off my ass last night and for causing you so much pain all the time-“ I wipe my eyes. “because I don’t want to, _God,_ I don’t want to, I love you so much, and Enjolras, I-“

                  He kisses me midsentence.

                  When we break apart for air, I smirk. “What a romantic cliché.”

                  “I’m still mad at you.”

                  I nod. “You have every right to be.”

                  “I kissed you because I’m angry.”

                  “Seems like a good reason to me.”

                  “But I love you.”

                  I wish I knew off the top of my head the last time he said that to me. “I love you, too, Apollo.”

                  He seems satisfied at this. “Okay.” He nods. “Okay.”

                  ~

                  Only a few hours later, Bossuet calls, somewhat surprising; I don’t talk to him very often. “What’s up?”

                  “I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

                  I sigh. “You and the rest of the world.”

                  “Really?” He sounds surprised. “They all told you?”

                  He has my attention now. “Told me what?”

                  There is a very pregnant pause.

                  “I just have to tell you what happened.”

                  I know I have to hear this. “Okay.”

                  “Grantaire, Enjolras thought you were dead.”

                  It always hurts. “I know-“

                  “That’s not all,” he interrupts. “He was really, really, upset. I have never seen him run that fast. Not when he thought we were going to be late for that rally two years ago. Not when we formed a track team and he was the last leg of the relay. Never. And the look on his face…Grantaire, it can only be described as dread, but what I’m telling you is that it was much, much worse than that.”

                  The worst part is, I am not surprised to hear any of this. I stay silent and hope he’ll go on while hoping he won’t.

                  “When he saw you were drunk, his face absolutely fell. He turned sharper. Angry. But caring, Grantaire, he was caring. He gently grabbed your arm and looked into your eyes.”

                  “And I…?”

                  “You slurred his name and pushed him off of you.”

                  _Oh, God._

                  “Grantaire, you could _see_ the hurt on his face, but he walked back to you.”

                  I don’t want to hear any more. But I need to know.

                  “He looked at you and told you to look into his eyes.”

                  “Bossuet-“

                  “No, not like that, Grantaire. The only way I can describe it is pleading. He was pleading with you.”

                  “But I didn’t.”

                  Bossuet exhales. “No, you didn’t. You told him to-“

                  “To do what?!” I think I know, but I need to be wrong.

                  “To save it for Combeferre.”

                  On the bright side, I’m right.

                  My breath is coming fast. “Bossuet, what did he _do?_ ”

                  “He cried.”

                  I cannot speak.

                  “He cried and told you he loved you.”

                  “And-“

                  “And you threw up on his shoes.”

                  I can faintly remember this, but I stay silent. God, how could I have been such an asshole?

                  “He must have really hated me.”

                  “No, Grantaire.”

                  No?

                  “He wiped your mouth and told you to sit down. I think he got you a glass of water, too. He did take his shoes off, but that was to be expected.

                  “The party fizzled after that. Everyone went home. I think Joly talked to Enjolras a little before he took you home.”

                  I let out a low whistle.  “Alright.”

                  “I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad, Grantaire. You just had to know.”

                  He’s right. How can I be mad if he’s right? “Thank you for telling me.”

                  “He really does care about you,” Bossuet says softly before hanging up.

                  ~

                  Enjolras is napping on the couch.

                  I pause for a moment in front of him to kiss his forehead before walking into our bedroom. I know he’ll stay sleeping-Enjolras is the heaviest sleeper I know.  
                  Our room is divided into sides, like a made-for-TV movie about siblings who don’t get along. Although we don’t have a line of tape, there is a definite dividing line. His side has his nightstand, a few neat piles of books and papers, and a beautiful mahogany desk. My side features a few piles of blankets, a sculpture Gavroche made for me, and, as a recent addition, my sketchbook. I also have a nightstand, home to a clock and one of my sister’s necklaces. The inside drawer is the real treasure trove, hiding old pictures, love notes, and other happy memories. Enjolras has never seen this drawer.

                  It’s looking like he never will.

                  Slowly, I grab one of my notebooks and pull up the chair at his desk. Somehow, it smells like him, and it is for this reason that I am more fueled to do what I have to do.

                  _Dear Enjolras,_

_Have I ever told you how amazing you are?_

_I’m not an easy person to have as a boyfriend, and I know that. Especially now, with…well, you know. I don’t make it easy to love me._

_But you do anyway, and even though I know you get down on yourself for not telling me enough, what I’m telling you, Apollo, is this: you don’t have to. I know it’s there._

_It’s there in the way you brush the hair out of my eyes. It’s there in the little squeezes you give my hand when we go to Joly’s office. It’s there in the eye contact we make across the room at parties, and the way you come up behind me, wrapping your arms around my waist as I get some chips._

_It’s there, Enjolras, when we have pun contests and you let me win, even though I know you’ve got at least three more good ones stashed in your incredible mind._

_It’s there in the way you take the smaller pickle and leave the big one for me._

_It’s there when you’re up all night with me when I feel sick._

_And it’s there when you wipe my mouth after I just threw up all over you, rather than taking care of your own soiled shoes first._

_And I love you so much for that._

_Always,_

_Your Grantaire._

I hesitate before doing what I’m about to do next, but it really isn’t a decision, just something I have to do.  Slowly, I walk to the other side of the room and grab one of my charcoal pens and my sketchbook.

                  I haven’t drawn in years, and it’s definitely showing, but I’m pleased with my final work. It’s a drawing of him and I gripping each other’s hands. There’s no background, but I’m almost more pleased with it like that. At the end of the day, that is the essence of our relationship.

                  I pad down the hall and find him still sleeping in the living room. Gently, I put the note and drawing next to him and then snuggle into his chest.

                  Who said cancer patients often experience heartbreak?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not updating sooner, guys! It was my school's homecoming week AND I didn't have internet access...but I hope to start updating more frequently!

And so, it’s my last day.

Everything’s all been planned. My surgery is tomorrow at nine in the morning. I’ll go in, get put under anesthetics, and then they’ll try to remove the tumor from my liver.

And then, if I’m lucky, I’ll wake up.

                I’ve accepted that I probably won’t, though. It’s taken awhile, but Enjolras has, too.

                This does not make it easier.

                Every day has been a silent countdown. Every day has been a few clumps of sand falling out of my hourglass.

                This is it. There’s not much left.

                I’m not relieved like I thought I would be. In fact, I’m terrified. I don’t know what to do. How do you make a last day count? How do you possibly forget?

                You don’t. But you can try.

                It’s there when I wake up in the morning, the looming reminder hanging above me. I turn over and see Enjolras, already awake. He answers the question in my eyes immediately.

                “I like watching you wake up,” he tells me. “You look peaceful.”

                I have a rule about blushing before noon: I don’t. Today, however, I break it. Without a word, I adjust myself into his arms. “You know what today is.”

                His voice only shakes a little. “I do.”

                “I want to just stay right here.” 

                He laughs a little. “All day?”

                “Forever.”

                He kisses my hair, and I feel my heart ache. “I do, too.”

                “We can’t, though.”

                I can feel his breath when he sighs, and an electric desire shoots through me. “No, we can’t.”

                I turn to face him. “Apollo…”

                “No,” he tells me, touching his hand to my cheek. “Don’t, right? It’s…”

                I nuzzle into his shoulder, and he holds me for awhile.

                ~

                When we get up and walk to the kitchen, something in his face changes. I can’t figure out what it is until I look at the clock.

                9:00 am.

                24 hours.

                He tries to keep upbeat. “Well, what do you want to do? We’ve got all day, you know. We can do whatever you want.”

                “I know.” I turn to him. “I just want to _go_ somewhere. Just _leave_ for the day.”

                A shadow crosses his face. “Except that.”

                “Wow, way to respect my dying wish, Apollo.” I say it as a joke, but that’s not how it comes out. “Sorry. I just meant that…”

                He sighs. “I know. It’s just…”

                “Just what?”

                “Don’t be mad, Grantaire.”

                “Good start.”

                Resigned, he hands me his phone, where an email is up. I think it’s a received message until I glimpse who it was sent to: all of our friends but me. And Enjolras, of course. Upon a closer look, I see the top of the email. _From: Apollo_ , it dictates, using the name I’ve forced Siri to call him. He constantly changes it, but I always set it back.

                I wonder if he’ll change it after I die.

                Trying to put this thought out of my mind, I look at the email Enjolras sent.

                _Hello, friends._

_I’m sure you all are aware of the melancholy significance that today holds. I myself have dreaded it for several weeks-but that bears no importance._

_I am just as confident that you will want to spend time with Grantaire, even and especially with the knowledge that it may very possibly be the last time._

_And I respect this. I really do. As I’m sure you know, I adore Grantaire, and anything that brings him happiness, I wholeheartedly support. In fact, I encourage you all to come visit today, as a day of friendship may be the very thing he needs._

_But I would like to ask if visiting hours, so to speak, ended around 8:00 at night, as to allow the two of us some alone time. Please do not think it because I do not enjoy your company, but rather because I crave Grantaire’s. This has been an extremely difficult month and a half for us, but I’d take another century of it rather than have it end._

_But, by all means, come over today. Grantaire, I know, would love your company, and I would, too._

_Most sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

As I read, I somehow grow and more angry. Who is he to decide how I want my last day to go? How hard would it have been to ask me? And just _assuming_ I would want alone time with him at night? I open my mouth, ready to shout...

                But I don’t. He must have seen the anger forming on my face, and is now wearing the sorriest expression I have ever seen. The hurt on his face is real and raw, and pleading me to keep quiet. And, truth be told, this _is_ how I want to spend my last day-especially the alone time with Enjolras.

                I would have liked him asking first. But I can’t get mad at him. Not today.

                I beam. “You’re wonderful.” I tell him, if only because I’m remembering ‘I’d take another century of it rather than have it end.’ “But…can we just invite them all to the botanical gardens? I don’t want to stay here.”

                His face breaks into a smile-or, at least, something resembling it, considering the day’s events. “Of course we can.”

                Most of them can come, we find upon his phone calls, other than Feuilly and Jehan, whom Enjolras and I will stop by on our way back. Joly can’t come, either, but I’ll see him, tomorrow.

                And so we set off, to forget with our reminders.

                ~

                _It’s been a good last day, all in all._ I think to myself as Enjolras and I walk in the apartment. _But now, the best (and worst) part._

                He hangs up his coat. I hang up mine. We look at each other.

                And he kisses me. Hard. It’s not a cutesy kiss, or even an ‘I now pronounce you married, you may kiss’ kiss. This is desperate. He needs me.

                And I need him.

                The passion between us is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I try not to think about how the first kiss like this between us will most likely be our last.

                My shirt has found his way off, and his has, too. The feeling of skin against skin is one I haven’t felt for awhile, not like this. It just makes me crave him more, as he’s still kissing me with incredible devotion, and it is everything I can do to kiss him back-his jaw, his neck, his chest-anywhere I can find. My needing is fierce-almost as fierce as his, which he keeps proving as he kisses me, kisses me, kisses me.

                “ _Grantaire,_ ” he moans, and I cannot hold in my whimper as he slips a hand in my pants.

                “I love that noise,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.

                Kissing him is ecstasy; it’s all I ever need. I cannot stop, because I don’t have much time left. He is the only thing running through my mind, the only thing that matters; all I know is that I have to kiss him before my time runs out.

                ~

                It’s him holding me for once after we finish, and a sadness has settled in. This really is our last night.

                “Apollo?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

                “What is it, Grantaire?”

                “Are you going to date other people…after?”

                He turns me to face him, taking my shoulders. “ _R._ ”

                I’ll never admit how much I love this. “Yeah?”

                He kisses me lightly. “How could I possibly expect anyone to compare to my incredible Grantaire?”

                I pull myself closer to him, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you,” I mumble, before pulling back. “What about a funeral?”

                He props himself up on one elbow. “What do you want?”

                I’ve never thought about this before. “I don’t want a sad service with a bunch of people who never gave a shit about me. Just…you guys all getting together at someone’s house would work.”

                He nods thoughtfully. “And a burial?”

                “I don’t like the thought of being buried. And I don’t want my body donated, either.”

                “Would you feel comfortable with cremation?” he asks.

                “Maybe.” I look directly into his eyes. “Would you want my ashes?”

                “It’s completely up to you. I’d be honored if you wanted to give them to me. But this is your decision.”

                “Could you…put some with my sister?”

                He takes me in his arms again. “Of course,” he whispers into my hair.

                We kiss a little more, but then, after exchanging I love you’s, go to bed.

                ~

                The alarm goes off at 7:30 the next morning. We don’t speak as we shower or get dressed. We’re too scared of what we might say-and what we might not.

                It’s 8:15 exactly when we get in the car. His hand shakes on the steering wheel and I place my hand on his. “You don’t have to come with me, Apollo.”

                He turns his hand over so it’s holding mine and squeezes it. “Yes, I do.”

                Joly is waiting for us at the office. He won’t be performing my surgery-it’s too close to home for him-but he didn’t get to see me yesterday, and wants to say goodbye.

                “Grantaire,” he creaks, holding his arms open, and I hug him tightly. “Thank you for all you’ve done,” I whisper, and tears slide off his nose as he nods.

                A doctor comes in, the doctor who, Joly explains, will be performing my surgery. She smiles, because she’s not going to die, and leads me to a room two flights of stairs up. Enjolras panics at first, but she tells him he can come, too. The only thing I notice on the way up is how tightly his hand clutches mine.

                I receive a hospital gown along with directions to put it on as she walks out the door.  The door shuts loudly behind her. Will I ever hear that sound again?

                Slowly, I begin to take off my shirt, but just as I start unbuttoning my jeans, Enjolras takes me by the shoulders and kisses me.

                I’m not stupid-I kiss him back, loving the way his hands creep over my chest. “Apollo…” I murmur.

                He breaks apart before long, though, still holding my face. “I’m sorry. I just…”

                “Apollo. It’s okay. I get it.” I rub his hips. “I’m going to miss you, too.” I finish putting on my hospital gown and then walk back to him. “It’s awful. I know.”

                His voice shakes. “Do we have to say goodbye now?”

                There are tears in my eyes, too. “I think so.” For one of the first times I can remember, I am flat-out sobbing. “Enjolras, I don’t want to-”

                “Shh.” He brings a finger to my lips. “Shh, you’ll be alright. I’m going to hold your hand, Grantaire; I won’t let anything go wrong.”

                I cry quietly into his shoulder, and I can feel him shaking with tears, too.

                He pulls back, though, taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes. “Grantaire, I have to-“

                He’s going to give his goodbye speech. I try to stop my tears, though I know it’s a futile attempt.

                “G-Grantaire,” he begins. “There is no doubt in my mind that you are strong enough to wake up from this idiotic surgery, and if you don’t, it is surely the fault of some moron doctor.”

                I laugh at this, a shaky, sniffly, laugh.

                “But if that happens to be the case, and if this is one of the last times I ever get the privilege to see those turquoise eyes that I love so much, then, Grantaire, you have to know that you are by far the most intelligent, talented, beautiful, and strong person I have ever had the good fortune to know, and I love you, I love you I love you I love you, and please do not ever forget that, because it is so important.”

                I embrace him again, and now he’s looking at me, and I realize he’s expecting a goodbye, too. I’m not very good at these, but for him, I will. Of course I will.

                “Enjolras…” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Enjolras, you know I love you. I’ve loved you since I first met you, and my love has only grown.”

                I stop. “This sounds gross.”

                His eyes are shining. “Keep going.”

                “And now,” I swallow. “Now, I love you more than ever, but I have to go. And I don’t want to- _God_ , Enjolras, I don’t want to, but I do, so I need you to remember that when I say I’ll love you forever, I really do mean _forever._ ”

                We’re both crying at this point, but the doctor has returned, and it is time for me to lie down and for Enjolras to sit in a chair and take my hand. The nurse gives me my anesthesia, and as she turns away for a second, Enjolras kisses my forehead and whispers, “I love you.”

                “Toujours, mon Apollo _._ ” I reply quietly as the room gets darker and I sink into an ominous sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

            Everything is white when I open my eyes. For once, I feel relaxed.

            Until I remember that I wasn’t supposed to open my eyes.

            Also, there’s a hand that’s _this_ close to cutting off my circulation.

            Except I know it’s not, because I can hear a heart monitor that’s too close to my ear.

            And what feels like a thousand doctors rushing around and shouting things that I can’t quite comprehend.

            But there is one thing I can grasp, even with the sensory overload that’s consuming me.

            I woke up.

            I’m alive.

            Immediately, I try to sit up, but I can’t. Upon my very movement, a nurse runs over to me. “Don’t try anything just yet. Someone else will be here in just a second. Until then, I think there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

            _Enjolras._

            I didn’t know I had said his name out loud until he turns. “ _Grantaire._ ” He makes a motion to hug me, but the nurse shakes his head. He squeezes my hand instead. “Grantaire, I can’t even…” He wipes some tears away. “I’m so happy.”

            I laugh weakly. “Calm down, Apollo, it’s sounding you’ve got quite some time left for you to be pleased to see me.” I look around. “Does Joly know yet?”

            The nurse bites his lip. “Yes…”

            At his words, Enjolras looks away, and I start to panic a little. “What aren’t you telling me?”

            The doctor enters then, “Ah, Grantaire. I need to talk to you. I assume your boyfriend hasn’t gotten around to letting you know yet.”

            My distraught expression gives me away, and so he walks over. “Grantaire?”

            I hate the way my voice shakes. “What?”

            He sighs. “It was a complicated surgery. We thought we’d done well…and then we realized we hadn’t. Our options were letting you die or fixing the few things we could and giving you a short amount of time. It was a difficult decision, and not one we felt we had the right to make…so we asked your boyfriend.”

            I whip my head around to Enjolras. “And you decided to have me live.”

            “I had to,” he whispers. “I couldn’t live without you.”

            “You’re going to need to!” I retort angrily, turning to face the doctor. “How long do I have?”

            “Two weeks to a month. And I would say a good half of it will be spent here.”

            Enjolras is upset, I can tell. He pulls at his hair, refusing to meet my eyes.

            “Alright, fine.” I drop my hands, which subconsciously rose as I shouted. “Fine.”

            Enjolras reaches out to touch me. “Grantaire…”

            I jerk away, though. “Whatever.”

            But he has too long pitied me, and is fast approaching his limit. “I was just doing what I thought was right!”

            “Are you _ever_ going to come to terms with the fact that I’m dying?”

            The way his eyes blaze contrast his tears. “Not until I have to!”

            “Guys!” The doctor raises his voice. “There are people in hear who _cannot_ have people yelling like this. I understand that you are both upset, but you will need to have this discussion at another time.”

            Enjolras typically doesn’t take direction well, but I know he respects the other patients' well being, so he nods.

            “When can I go home?” I ask bitterly.

            “Tomorrow morning. We just want to keep you here overnight to make sure you’re alright.”

            I look at Enjolras. “I suppose you’re going to stay here, too?”

            He raises one eyebrow. “Only if you want me to.”

            How am I supposed to admit that I do? “It’s not my decision.”

            “You’re the one with _cancer,_ Grantaire.” He spits the word at me like a slap.

            “Glad you’ve finally noticed.”

            The doctor leaves-who can blame him? -as Enjolras hisses, “If only you could do the same.”

            “I just want to know if you want to stay with me.”

            “Tonight or forever?”

            “If your answer depends on what I’m asking, I think we have a bigger problem.”

            We lock eyes and both instantaneously know that this is not about staying at a hospital overnight.

            His voice is tight. “I’ll stay.”

            “Don’t do me any favors.”

            “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

            “What a noble deed, Apollo.”

            He stops. “Could you stop calling me that for once?”

            You’d think someone as intelligent as him would learn what happens when I’m told not to do something. “Of course, Apollo.” I grin wickedly. “Oops.”

            He throws his hands up in exasperation. “You’re impossible!”

            “Those don’t sound like the words of a man who wants to spend the night at the hospital with me.”

            His deep breaths let me know I’ve won the battle, yet I’m missing my victorious feeling. “I _will_ stay, Grantaire.”

            “I will be just fine without you.”

            “Could you comprehend that maybe this does not have to do with you?!”

            Enjolras is the only person I know who possesses the gift to shut me up.

            His use of it is far more powerful than I would like.

            When I finally find my voice, I decide not to fight back. I open my mouth and-

            “If whatever you are going to say includes calling me ‘Apollo’, I do not want to hear it.”

            I close my mouth again.

            “I have done nothing but try to help you, Grantaire. Everything I have done since you’ve been sick was done in your best interests. I’m not even going to try and imagine what you’re going through, but I don’t think it’s too much to expect that you extend me the same courtesy. Have you ever watched the love of your life die with the knowledge that there’s nothing you can do about it? This cancer may be killing you on the outside, Grantaire, which is horrifying-but you need to know that it’s also killing me on the inside.”

            And this time, when I look at him, I see his tears that have not fallen, and I know that those are the worst tears of all, and he is holding his head up high, but his lip is trembly, and I want to hold him, but I shouldn’t, not yet, because _I see him._  
            I imagine him dying the way I am, getting weaker by the day before almost fading into nothingness.

            I imagine him pushing me away, trying to save me, but really just destroying me more.

            I imagine trying to say goodbye to him, with the knowledge that I’d go on without him by my side.

            And I try to imagine life without him.

            But I can’t.

            And now it is me who has the tears spilling from my eyes, because _no,_ I do _not_ want to do that to him, I just want to leave everyone unhurt, but I can’t.

            I can try to make it better, though.

            “I’m sorry,”    I say, and before I know it, he has me in his arms, because screw what the doctor says, sometimes a person needs to be held.

            “I’m sorry.” I say again and again. “I’m sorry I'm sorry I’m sorry.”

            ~

            Eponine, of course, makes a loud and obnoxious entrance and, to my delight, comes hand-in-hand with Courfeyrac.

            “Tairebear!” she yells, and Enjolras presses a finger to his lips-in vain, of course. “You did it!”

            “Not for long, though, Ep.” I warn her. “You know that, right?”

            “Shut up,” she says seriously. “I don’t even want to think about that.

            “Besides,” she adds, “what does it matter? You’re here now, so let’s enjoy that. You survived what most people don’t-let’s celebrate!”

            “Seriously, R, if anyone could have made it, it’s you,” Courfeyrac adds.

            This is not true, of course-if anyone could have made it, it’s Enjolras, or Eponine, not me, but I won’t argue. Enjolras and I agreed to only tell our friends that I survived-not the circumstances. It’s just easier, plus it’ll diffuse tensions.

            “So, Courf, “Enjolras says, changing the subject. “How are things getting on without me?”

            My heart drops. Of course Enjolras hasn’t been going to café meetings because of me. The one thing he loves most-and I’m making him miss it.

            “Combeferre’s running things pretty well,” replies Courfeyrac slowly. “We miss you, of course, but everyone understands.” He refuses to break eye contact with Enjolras. “No one expects you back anytime soon. Take your time and wait until you’re ready.”

            Enjolras nods. “I appreciate that.”

            I feel very awkward all of a sudden, so I nudge Eponine and nod to her hand, still clasped tightly in Courf’s. “How’s that?” I ask quietly.

            She gets wide eyes. “Grantaire, he’s so different when he’s around me,” she says in a hushed tone. “All sweet and caring and…it’s weird, but I like it.”

            This seems off to me. “He’s not flirty at all?”

            “Oh, God, no, he’s still charming as hell,” she giggles. “And, ‘Taire, you would not _believe_ how good he is in bed.”

            Enjolras and Courfeyrac fall silent at this, and look over at us curiously.

            Eponine and I immediately start laughing, and Enjolras turns to Courfeyrac. ”Is she talking about you?”

            “I hope so,” he grins, “but I’m not sure. ‘Ponine, are you talking about me?”

            Our giggles are unstoppable now, but somehow Eponine shrieks “Yes!” and Courf walks over and kisses her. I smile at how happy he’s making my best friend, but watching them makes my heart ache.

            “We weren’t like that, were we?”

            Enjolras has come to my side, leaning against me and looking down.

            “No,” I answer simply. “You were much more aloof. Playing hard-to-get, you know. My mysterious lover.”

            This was not what he wanted to hear. “No! I was good to you!” A shadow crosses his face. “Wasn’t I?”

            “Relax, Apollo-you were a perfect boyfriend.” I study him. “I loved you so much-and I still do.” I bite my lip. “You know that, don’t you?”

            He nods. “I do.” He squeezes my hand. “I just wish we had more time.”

            I sit up straighter to snuggle into him, even though I’m in a hospital bed and he’s standing alone. “I do, too.”

            He kisses my hair. “Grantaire, I-“

            “No.” I shake my head. “Don’t say it.”

            But now it’s him who argues. “No, Grantaire, I love you, and I need to tell you as often as possible.”

            I wish this didn’t make so much sense. “Alright.”

            “Y’all are adorable,” Eponine comments. “We have to go, though.” She bends down to kiss my forehead. “I _will_ see you again,” she tells me.

            I laugh. “Alright, Eponine. I can’t wait.”

            Courfeyrac salutes. “Seeya, R.” He turns to Enjolras. “Be sure to keep us updated.”

            Enjolras nods. “Will do.”

            After a few minutes of silence, I look up at him. “They don’t _really_ get it, do they?”

            “What do you mean?” he asks.

            “You know. I mean, they feel sad and upset and all because I’m-because we’re their friends, but they don’t really get how much it hurts, do they?”

            He speaks slowly when he answers. “No, I don’t think so. But you can’t be angry or condescending because of it, Grantaire. It’s frustrating that they think they understand, but they are trying.”

            “But _why?_ ” I insist. “Why is it that we’re the only ones who really understand how awful it is?”

            He laughs softly. “Because, Grantaire. We’re in love.”


	11. Chapter 11

            My first week at home is a tranquil one. I don’t always feel 100% energetic, of course, but I’ve come to expect that. I sleep some, watch movies, and I even go on a walk with Enjolras. Life is good.

            Until Wednesday.

            From the moment I wake up, I know it’ll be different than my past few days. I feel dizzy and weak, and when I try to sit up, I can’t.    

            I turn my head, but Enjolras is still sleeping. He’s been putting in so much time with me that I don’t want to wake him up. He needs this.

            I see spots before my eyes, and I know I’m in trouble. “Enjolras!” I hiss.

            But my boyfriend could sleep through a hurricane, and doesn’t even stir.

            Somehow I find the strength to lift my arm and hit his chest.

            “Grantaire?” he mumbles sleepily. “Go back to sleep.”

            In response, I hit him again, more softly. “Fading,” I eke out, because I am losing consciousness fast. “Can’t…”

            That is all it takes for him to bolt out of bed and grab his phone, where Joly’s name is waiting on speed dial. “Pick up, _pick up!_ ” he curses, tugging a blond curl. “Joly, yes, it’s Enjolras, Grantaire is falling unconscious, we need help, hurry, _hurry!_ ”

            And that is the last thing I hear before I black out.

            I am in a hospital room when I wake up, to my annoyance. “This is getting really old,” I grumble.

            “Well, you’ll be out of here soon,” the doctor chuckles, “but for now I need to test you on a few things. Do you know who you are?”

            “Does anyone?”

            She frowns. “Can you tell me about where you were before you lost consciousness?”

            “Implying, of course, that there was a time when I had consciousness.”

            “Where are you?”

            “Trapped in a desert of nothingness, wishing for a well and terrified of drowning in it.”

            Irritated, she leaves, and I can hear arguing tones outside the door. “He is obviously in need of serious help!” “That’s just Grantaire, if he had answered cheerfully, I would have been worried.”

            A minute later, Joly walks in. “Grantaire, buddy, I’m so glad you’re okay, but take it easy on Elaine, alright?”

            I suppress a smirk. “Yeah, alright.” I wrinkle my nose. “What happened to me?”

            Joly sighs. “Your body…gave up. An effect of cirrhosis, not the cancer. It wanted to let you know you need help.”

            I wish I didn’t understand it, but I do. “And is that kind of help available?”

            Slowly, Joly shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.

            “Okay.”

            ~

            I spend the rest of my day at home, in Enjolras’s arms as we cuddle. Tears fall, and we let them. I never thought I’d see the day when Enjolras doesn’t fight something, but here we are.

            The next day is fine. I manage to get up and even walk around a little. Jehan comes over to visit, and Eponine calls me.

            But then, it’s Friday.

            The day starts out as a good one. Enjolras and I play Mario Kart all morning and plan to make paninis for lunch.

            I’m halfway to the kitchen before I realize I am about to throw up.

            Dashing down the hall, I pray that I make it to a toilet, a sink, _something_. Vomiting on the floor would be even more embarrassing than this whole ordeal.

            I sit in front of the toilet and gag, expelling an ugly mess reminding me of how sick I am.

            But it’s not food I’m throwing up.

            It’s blood.

            As I stare into the toilet bowl miserably, I start to cry. Ugly crying. Gasping sobs that are not to be ignored.

            And right on cue, Enjolras comes running in. “Grantaire, what…”

            His silence of realization is horrendously loud. When he finally speaks, his voice shakes.

            “Grantaire, you know we have to tell Joly about this.”

            My words are barely there. “Yeah.”

            “And you know what this’ll mean. What he’ll say.”

            “Yeah.”

            And then, unexpectedly, he takes me in his arms.

            “I’m a mess,” I tell him, pushing it away.

            His response is simple. “You’re mine.”

            ~

            Home sweet hospital.

            I have my own room now. 494. I get visitors every day, along with constant checkups and tests.

            And I hate it.

            “You know, Apollo,” I grumble as I move my bed to angle upright, “I have had better Friday nights.”

            He looks like he wants to laugh, but instead just says, “Eat your toast.”

            Hiding a smile, I pick up my toast and nibble at it. ‘Thank you for staying here.”

            “Grantaire, of course.”

            _-Saturday-_

Enjolras goes out today. He’s not being an asshole-I told him to. It’s not fair that he’s cooped up all the time because of me.

            I sleep all day, so I’m wide awake when he comes back. “What’s new?”

            He stretches out on a few chairs we’ve pushed together to make a couch. “I don’t know. Bahorel got a haircut.”

            I give him a look.

            “Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “Cosette is pregnant.”

            “Actually, I knew that.”

            “You’re so hard to please.”

            “I am.” I roll over to be closer to him. “How do you possibly put up with me?”

            His smile is sad. “With love, Grantaire.  With love.”

            _-Sunday-_

            Combeferre visits today, bringing a book for Enjolras and frosted animal crackers for me. I would be upset at being infantilized once again if it wasn’t for my love of frosted animal crackers. I smile at Combeferre tiredly, too exhausted to say much of anything. Enjolras kisses my forehead as I start to fall asleep, and takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over it while he talks to his friend.

            _-Monday-_

            The best gift comes from Muschietta and Bossuet, who stop in when they come to take Joly out to lunch.

            Muschietta knocks lightly, and Enjolras opens the door, smiling softly. “Hey, ‘Chetta. Good to see you.”

            “Hey guys!” she says quietly. “How you feeling, Grantaire?”

            I screw up my face. “Awful.”

            “Joly says your test results aren’t bad.” Bossuet offers, and I force a smile. “If only my body knew that.”

            “Well!” Muschietta says, clapping her hands. “We brought you something to lift your spirits!”

            Enjolras smiles weakly. “Hit us with it, then.”

            Bossuet takes a bag from Muschietta’s purse and sets it on my lap. I open it to find the largest set of Sharpies I have ever seen.

            They have gone all out. Every color I can imagine is in this package. Stammering, I manage to get out “What…’Chetta…Bossuet…what did you…?”

            “Hospital rooms are so white and boring.” Muschietta explains. “We thought you should spice it up.”

            “But…can I really…?”

            “We checked with Joly, and he’s given his okay,” Bossuet confirms. “They actually want to start trying it with a bunch of rooms.” He looks at me. “The only thing is, you have to draw stuff that’ll be pleasing to everyone who could be in here. Not only stuff important to you,” he adds, glancing pointedly at Enjolras. “Stuff anyone would want to see in a hospital room.”

            I don’t know what to say. “This is so cool, guys. Thank you.”

            “Of course,” Muschietta smiles. “We just want you to be happy.”

            _-Tuesday-_

And so, the mural begins. Enjolras looks at me expectantly, and I try to figure out how to say what I want. “Well, we have four walls. I think that opposite the bed, we should have words. A message. Artsy lettering, of course. But I think we need something inspiring. Making people in here feel validated.”

            He looks at me as if just being in the same room with me is a gift. “You’re amazing.”

            I blush. “No, I’m an artsy freak. Let me finish.”

            He wants to argue, but will respect me enough to wait. “Go ahead.”

            “Well, for the rest of it, I like a big scene idea. Could we just draw a lot of people? I know I can’t draw anything related to me, but if one of them just happens to _coincidentally_ look like Courfeyrac…”

He catches on immediately. “I like it. Plus, if you just draw a bunch of people all over, with no connection…”

            I’m simultaneously glad he didn’t finish the sentence and glad he started it. The mural won’t look horribly unfinished if I die in the middle of making it. “Exactly.”

            He nodes. “I like it. What were you thinking for the message?”

            I bite my lip. “I’m awful at coming up with these…Okay, how’s this: You are not weak for being here. Being here makes you strong. You’re holding on, and that makes you the strongest person alive.”

            “Grantaire, you you’re incredible. Do you honestly feel like that?”

            Slowly, I nod. “Sometimes. I mean…it’s my own fault I’m like this. If I hadn’t been so fucking stupid with my drinking habits…”

            Enjolras takes me by the shoulders. “Grantaire.” He kisses my head, his lips lingering on my curls. When he pulls back, he moves his hands so they’re cupping my face. “You’ve made mistakes, yes, but they do not define you. What defines you is what you do after, and R, that’s what I fell in love with.”

            So I kiss him, and he kisses me back, and I could stay with him forever, loving his lips against mine, but unfortunately, cancer is going to kill this moment, like so many others, and I know I am about to throw up again.  
            I break away and grab my bucket, vomiting up a stream of blood. Enjolras is instantly there, holding back my hair and wiping my face.

            “I’m going to try not to take offense,” he quips, and I laugh weakly. “Sorry, Apollo. It’s not you.”

            “I know,” he tells me, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry.”

            _-Wednesday-_

            Jehan visits today, bringing a cheer that the room hasn’t seen before. He doesn’t stay long, but smiles over his portrait and compliments all I’ve done so far. It really is shaping up to look cool.

            I’m not tired today, but Enjolras is, so he takes a nap while I draw some more. I’ve been trying to teach him how to draw more than stick figures, but no luck yet.

            I decide to go to sleep around 9:30, murmuring my routine “I love you,” to Enjolras as he takes my hand. He says it back, and I fall asleep, not feeling happy, but secure.

            _-Thursday-_

            Today is Bahorel’s birthday, so I don’t expect any visitors. They’ll all have a party, of course, and I hate the thought of not being there. Trying to avoid the feeling, I draw a little more. I haven’t had a project like this in awhile, and I'm getting really immersed.

            So immersed, in fact, that I don’t even notice when a large group comes traipsing in until Courfeyrac taps met on the shoulder.

            “Having fun?” he grins, and I drop my marker. “What?”

            “Grantaire couldn’t come to the party, so the party came to Grantaire,” Feuilly says, smiling.

            I can feel myself blushing. “You guys…”

            “Are we going to do this or not?!” Bahorel demands, and so we do.

            The “party” cannot last very long, of course-I have a limit to how many visitors I can have in my room, and Joly’s conscience is kicking in-but I don’t mind. Eating has made me really drowsy, and so I just sit sleepily in my bed. Enjolras holds my hand and whispers sweet things in my ear, and I love him for it.

            When everybody’s gone, he opens up a paper bag. “What’s that?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.

            “Some of my clothes,” he replies. “Combeferre brought them, because I haven’t had the time-or the courage-to go back and get any.”

            I’m puzzled by his use of ‘courage’ until I realize what he means: he doesn’t want to leave for fear I’ll die while he’s gone.

            Then the rest of it hits me. He hasn’t gone home since I’ve been admitted to the hospital. This truly has become our new home, and he’s take it on fully for me.

            Which is probably why I do what I do next.

            “Come here,” I say, moving over and patting my hospital bed.

            His eyebrows come together. ‘I don’t think I should…”

            “Apollo, I’m dying anyway, and since when have you played by the rules?”

            This makes sense to him, and he snuggles in next to me. I shift so he can holding me, and he presses his lips into my curls, whispering, “I love you,” as I nuzzle into his neck and fall asleep.

            _-Friday-_

            Today, Eponine comes to visit, and, to my delight, brings Gavroche along with her. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but the way he looks at me makes it all worth it.

            “I’m so glad to see you guys,” I tell them, and they smile back at me.

            “You didn’t really think I was lying when I said I’d see you again, did you?” Eponine demands, and Gavroche echoes her. “Yeah, no way would we just let you go, R.”

            I love how important I am to them. “Aww, you guys,” I tease. “I didn’t know you were this emotional.”

            “Eponine is, with Courf” Gavroche speaks up, and she promptly whacks him. “Shut up, pest.”

            Enjolras and I laugh, and I lean back, settling into the conversation. I honestly am happy today-I’m spending time with the only three people I can really be myself around.

            I am fading fast, though-this time with dizziness and a growing lethargy, and with one warning look to Enjolras, he immediately handles the situation. “Guys, I’m really glad you came, but I don’t know how much longer Grantaire’ll be awake for you.”

            Eponine rises at once. “Alright. We don’t want to overtire you.” She bends down to hug me, whispering, “You mean so much to me.”

            It’s Gavroche, however, who has the best words; when he leans down and says, “I’ve always admired you so much.” I can see Enjolras has a lump in his throat, too, and I swallow back my tears to say, “Thanks, little man.”

            ~

            My head hurts so much and I just want to sleep, but I have to say one thing to Enjolras first. “I really matter to all these people, don’t I?”

            He won’t even hide his tears. “You really do, Grantaire. I…I don’t…”

            “Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, Apollo.” I kiss him. “You have to remember: not everything will change. How could I ever stop loving you?”

            “And I you,” he replies voice shaky, and that is all I hear before falling asleep again.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Dear Grantaire,_

_There was a time, just a little over a week ago, when I thought that the worst way to wake up was being hit by your soon-to-be unconscious boyfriend, but I was wrong._

_The worst way to wake up is by the high-pitched beeping of a heart monitor, whining for much longer than it ever has before, and refusing to believe that it means what you think it might mean until you realize that the hand clutching yours is cold and limp._

_There was a time when I thought the worst conversation I could have with a doctor was learning that the surgery had not gone well, and that I got the choice of keeping you for a short time or letting you go._

_Grantaire, I knew you’d be mad, but I wasn’t ready to end my time with you._

_Not that it matters, though, because I was wrong. That’s not the worst conversation I could have with a doctor._

_The worst conversation I could have with a doctor was the confirmation of your death and telling them you wanted to be cremated. Listening to the words ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, the first time of many I would hear them. Wanting to stay, afraid of what leaving would mean, but gently being told I could go. There was no reason for me to stay._

_There was a time when I thought the worst conversation I could ever have with Eponine would be her telling me I was too controlling, too protective, but I was wrong._

_The worst conversation I could have with Eponine is calling from a hospital payphone, because I cannot unlock my cell to see a picture of us, not yet, and screwing up the number countless times, but the worst time, the worst time was getting was getting it right, and hearing her voice, wide awake. “Hello?” She was wide awake, Grantaire, waiting for a call like this. All I managed to get out was “Eponine…” and she knew. “You don’t have to say it, Enjolras.” We cried together, Grantaire, for a long time._

_There was a time when I thought that the worst drive home was the one from Joly’s office to our apartment, directly after finding out you had cancer, but I was wrong._

_The worst drive home was from the hospital to the apartment at 3 AM, not being able to see the road though my tears, but refusing to pull over, Grantaire, until I realized that I was not going to our apartment, I was going to my apartment._

_And I broke._

_I pulled over, got out of the car, and sobbed.  I let myself stay there for awhile, Grantaire, before taking a deep breath and getting back in the car._

_There was a time when I thought that the worst circumstances for sleeping alone were you drunk on the couch, not yet knowing what you’d done to me, but I was wrong._

_The worst circumstances for sleeping alone are knowing that you will never return next to me again, but smelling your ineffable scent on the bedsheets next to me, and spreading myself across the bed, burying my face in your pillow and missing you terribly._

_There was a time when I thought that the worst gathering we had with our friends was a compressed gathering in a stuffy hospital room, with no one saying what they thought and everyone acting far too cheerful, but I was wrong._

_The worst gathering we had with our friends was your funeral, all of us crammed into Courf’s apartment, and nobody wanting to be the first to say anything, until Jehan burst out, “It’s so fucking unfair!” and started to cry. We all rushed to comfort him, but somewhere along the line, it turned into everyone comforting each other._

_It wasn’t what anyone expected, Grantaire, but it was perfectly fitting for you. We sat in a circle, with everyone finding some way to be touching; arms around each other, holding hands, thighs touching thighs, heads on each other’s shoulders, feet resting against feet._

_Once we had all settled in, Eponine spoke first. “You think he’s watching this?” Her nose sounded stuffed._

_Then Bahorel. “I don’t know. I don’t really believe much in an afterlife.”_

_I spoke next, wiping my eyes. “I didn’t either, until now. But it’s like I need to. I don’t believe in a god or any supreme being. But I need to believe there’s an afterlife. I need to know he’s not just gone forever, that we’ll meet again. I need to believe that, or…”  
            The room fell silent, and Combeferre took my hand. Nobody said anything until Courfeyrac threw his hands down. “_ Fuck, _Enjolras!”_

 _I raised my eyebrows at him, but he didn’t need a prompt. “Nobody ever thought you’d be all romantic, and it’s so sweet, and beautiful, and we all just want you to be happy, but you’re not, and it’s so fucking_ sad! _”_

_We all laughed shakily, and Eponine held him as he cried, but everyone saw the tears on her cheeks, too._

_Joly looked at me. “Enjolras, I hope you don’t blame me for this.”_

_Vehemently, I shook my head. “You did all that you could, Joly. I thank you for everything.”_

_He wiped his eyes and nodded, and Bossuet held him, just like Marius was holding Cosette, and Eponine held Courfeyrac, and I know you would have held me, R, had you been there, but instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to cry._

_I was unsuccessful._

            _But all that means is that I miss you, Grantaire, and everything you are. I  miss you as I see Courf and Eponine starting to date, and as I see Jehan proposing to his boyfriend, and as Cosette and Marius paint a nursery and buy tiny clothes. I want that with you, more than you can possibly know._

_But even without couple-type things, I miss you, Grantaire. My heart aches when I wake up in the morning and roll over to see an empty pillow, and upon going to the bathroom and seeing your toothbrush. I have to bite my lip when I see your coat hanging up, and your shoes by the door. You are all over my life, Grantaire, and yet, not as close as I’d like, nowhere near as close as I’d like._

_The thing about us, R, is that no matter how much time we got, I’d say it wasn’t enough. This could be said for many couples, I know, but it’s slightly different with me. I was a complete asshole to you, once we started dating, all I ever wanted to do was love you enough to prove it._

_But cancer killed that chance, as it did the love of my life._

_And don’t you ever doubt that that’s what you are, Grantaire, because I loved-no, present tense, present tense love-you so unbelievably much, and you cannot possibly know how much I regret not telling you how head-over-heels I was. Am._

_For you, and your damned cynicism, and the secrets you loved me enough to trust me with, and the words you wanted so badly for me to hear, and your incredible art skills, working as a team with your teaching capability, clearly, because Grantaire, I learned to draw._

_You are gaping at me from up above, I’m sure, but it’s true, R. I did. And if you’ve recovered from that shock, let me drop another bomb: I used my newfound powers to fight authority._

_Okay, so maybe that’s not such a shock. But I did. You should know that._

_Yesterday, I gathered all of the strength I didn’t think I had and went back to the hospital._

_It wasn’t easy, Grantaire, I’m not going to lie. I was shaking the entire time, but I did it; I walked in and asked to go to your room._

_The lady recognized me, which was enough to almost break me right then and there. It doesn’t sound like much, I’m sure, but when you have gotten to a point where hospital staff knows you, although never have been sick, you must have a pretty sad story. And I do, Grantaire. We both do._

_But I was allowed to go up to your room, even though that elevator ride was one of the longest I have ever had, and even though I felt like I would fall with every step down that hallway, I made my way to the room I would give anything for you to still occupy._

_Tears filled my eyes upon walking in, of course, but I brushed them away. I had more pressing matters to attend to._

_In my bag, somehow unnoticed by the receptionist, I had your Sharpies._

_Shaking, I took them out and found an empty space on the wall, big enough to fit two drawn people. It wasn’t easy, Grantaire. You had gotten a lot done-and phenomenally, too. The room was by far the cheeriest on the floor-especially with that message._

_But I did find some space, and I knelt down and very, very carefully sketched two figures. One was a blond in a red hoodie and skinny jeans, and the other, a beautiful brunet in a tight green shirt and baggy Levi’s. They were looking at each other, holding hands and smiling._

_It wasn’t nearly as good as you could have done, but it was something I had to do. And, more than that, it was something I needed to do. For you._

_I wrote our names underneath the drawing, but didn’t add any dates of how long we had dated or your lifespan. Instead, I just scrawled this quote:_

_“Those in love do not always announce themselves with declarations and vows. But they are the ones who weep when you’re gone. Who miss you every single night, especially when the sky is so deep and beautiful and the ground so very cold.”_

_-Alice Hoffman_

_I miss you like hell and I love you even more_

_-Enjolras_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.


End file.
